• 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 


MISS  LADY 


THE 
LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Of  Miss  Lady,  whom  it  involved  in  mystery, 

and  of  John  Eddring,  gentleman  of  the  South, 

who  read  its  deeper  meaning 


A   NOVEL 
By 

EMERSON    HOUGH 

Author  of 

The  Mississippi  Bubble 
The  Way  to  the  West 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

ARTHUR  I.  KELLER 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1904 
EMERSON   HOUGH 


OCTOBER 


I  3 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO  R.  E.  B. 
TO  T.  A.  D. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    Miss  LADY  i 

II    MULEY  10 

III  THE  VISITOR  33 

IV  A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  41 
V    CERTAIN  PROBLEMS  62 

VI    THE  DRUM  71 

VII    THE  BELL  85 

VIII    THE  VOLCANO  99 

IX    ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  105 

X    Miss  LADY  OF  THE  STAIR  124 

XI    COLONEL  CALVIN  BLOUNT'S  PROPOSAL  131 

XII    A  WOMAN  SCORNED  141 

XIII  JOHN  DOE  vs.  Y.  V.  R.  R.  147 

XIV  NUMBER  4  153 
XV    THE  PURSUIT  159 

XVI    THE  TRAVELING  BAG  169 

XVII    Miss  LADY  AND  HENRY  DECHERD  174 

XVIII    MISFORTUNE  185 

BOOK  II 

I    THE  MAKING  OF  THE  WILDERNESS  191 

I 

BOOK  III 

I    EDDRING,  AGENT  OF  CLAIMS  199 

II    THE  OPINIONS  OF  CALVIN  BLOUNT  208 

III  REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON  218 

IV  THE  RELIGION  OF  JULES  237 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

V    DISCOVERY  244 

VI    THE  DANCER  252 

VII    THE  SUMMONS  259 

VIII    THE  STOLEN  STEAMBOAT  265 

IX    THE  ACCUSER  271 

X    THE  VOYAGE  281 

XI    THE  WILDERNESS  286 

XII    THE  HOUSE  OF  HORROR  297 

XIII  THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  FOREST  306 

XIV  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE  312 
XV    CERTAIN  MOTIVES  322 

XVI    THE  NEW  SHERIFF  334 

XVII    THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  343 

XVIII    Miss  LADY  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE  363 

XIX    THREE  LADIES  Louisa  377 

XX  THE  LID  OF  THE  GRAVE  398 

XXI  THE  RED  RIOT  OF  YOUTH  403 
XXII    AMENDE  HONORABLE  409 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

CHAPTER  I 

MISS  LADY 

Ah,  but  it  was  a  sweet  and  wonderful  thing  to  see 
Miss  Lady  dance,  a  strange  and  wondrous  thing !  She 
was  so  sweet,  so  strong,  so  full  of  grace,  so  like  a 
bird  in  all  her  motions!  Now  here,  now  there,  and 
back  again,  her  feet  scarce  touching  the  floor,  her 
loose  skirt,  held  out  between  her  dainty  fingers,  re- 
sembling wings,  she  swam  through  the  air,  up  and 
down  the  room  of  the  old  plantation  house,  as  though 
she  were  indeed  the  creature  of  an  element  wherein  all 
was  imponderable,  light  and  free  of  hampering  influ- 
ences. Darting,  nodding,  beckoning,  courtesying  to 
something  that  she  saw— it  must  have  moved  you  to 
applause,  had  you  seen  Miss  Lady  dance !  You  might 
have  been  restrained  by  the  feeling  that  this  was 
almost  too  unreal,  too  unusual,  this  dance  of  the 
young  girl,  all  alone,  in  front  of  the  great  mirror 
which  faithfully  gave  back  the  passing,  flying  figure 
line  for  line,  flush  for  flush,  one  bosom-heave  for  that 
of  the  other.  Yet  the  tall  white  lilies  in  the  corner 

1 


2  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

saw;  and  the  tall  white  birds,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
great  cheval  glass,  saw  also,  but  fluttered  not;  since 
a  lily  and  a  stork  and  a  maiden  may  each  be  tall  and 
white,  and  each  may  understand  the  other  subtly. 

Miss  Lady  stood  at  length,  tall  and  white,  her 
cheeks  rosy  withal,  her  blown  brown  hair  pushed  back 
a  bit,  one  hand  lightly  resting  on  her  bosom,  looking — 
looking  into  the  mirror,  asking  of  it  some  question,  get- 
ting, indeed,  from  it  some  answer — an  answer  em- 
bodying, perhaps,  all  that  youth  may  mean,  all  that 
the  morning  may  bring. 

For  now  the  sun  of  the  South  came  creeping  up 
apace,  and  saw  Miss  Lady  as  it  peered  in  through  the 
rose  lattice  whereon  hung  scores  of  fragrant  blossoms. 
A  gentle  wind  of  morning  stirred  the  lace  curtains  at 
the  windows  and  touched  Miss  Lady's  hair  as  she 
stood  there,  asking  the  answer  of  the  mirror.  It  was 
morning  in  the  great  room,  morning  for  the  southern 
day,  morning  for  the  old  plantation  whose  bell  now 
jangled  faintly  and  afar  off— morning  indeed  for 
Miss  Lady,  who  now  had  ceased  in  her  self-absorbed 
dance.  At  this  very  moment,  as  she  stood  gazing  into 
the  mirror,  with  the  sunlight  and  the  roses  thus  at 
hand,  one  might  indeed  have  sworn  that  it  was  morn- 
ing for  ever,  over  all  the  world! 

Miss   Lady    stood    eager,    fascinated,    before   the 


MISS  LADY  3 

glass;  and  in  the  presence  of  the  tall  flowers  and  the 
tall  birds,  saw  something  which  stirred  her,  felt  some- 
thing which  came  in  at  the  window  out  of  the  blue 
sky  and  from  the  red  rose  blossoms,  on  the  warm 
south  wind.  Impulsively  she  flung  out  her  arms  to 
the  figure  in  the  glass.  Perhaps  she  felt  its  beauty 
and  its  friendliness.  And  yet,  an  instant  later,  her 
arms  relaxed  and  sank ;  she  sighed,  knowing  not  why 
she  sighed. 

Ah,  Miss  Lady,  if  only  it  could  be  for  ever  morning 
for  us  all !  Nay,  let  us  say  not  so.  Let  us  say  rather 
that  this  sweet  picture  of  Miss  Lady,  doubled  by  the 
glass,  remains  to-day  imperishably  preserved  in  the 
old  mirror— the  picture  of  Miss  Lady  dancing  as  the 
bird  flies,  and  then  standing,  plaintive  and  question- 
ing, before  her  own  image,  loving  it  because  it  was 
beautiful  and  friendly,  dreading  it  because  she  could 
not  understand. 

Miss  Lady  had  forgotten  that  she  was  alone,  and 
did  not  hear  the  step  at  the  door,  nor  see  the  hand 
which  presently  pushed  back  the  curtain.  There 
stepped  into  the  room  the  tall,  somewhat  full  figure 
of  a  lady  who  stood  looking  on  with  eyes  at  first  sur- 
prised, then  cynically  amused.  The  intruder  paused, 
laughing  a  low,  well-fed,  mellow  laugh.  On  the  mo- 
ment she  coughed  in  deprecation.  Miss  Lady  sprang 


4  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

back,  as  does  the  wild  deer  startled  in  the  forest.  Her 
hands  went  to  her  cheeks,  which  burned  in  swift 
flame,  thence  to  drop  to  her  bosom,  where  her  heart 
was  beating  in  a  confusion  of  throbs,  struggling  with 
the  reversed  current  of  the  blood  of  all  her  tall  young 
body. 

' '  Mamma ! ' '  she  cried.    ' '  You  startled  me. ' ' 
"So  it  seems,"  said  the  new-comer.    "I  beg  your 
pardon.    I  did  not  mean  to  intrude  upon  your  devo- 
tions. ' ' 

She  came  forward  and  seated  herself —a  tall  woman, 
a  trifle  full  of  figure  now,  but  still  vital  of  presence. 
Her  figure,  deep-chested,  rounded  and  shapely,  now 
began  to  carry  about  it  a  certain  air  of  ease.  The 
mouth,  well-bowed  and  red,  had  a  droop  of  the  same 
significance.  The  eyes,  deep,  dark  and  shaded  by 
strong  brows,  held  depths  not  to  be  fathomed  at  a 
glance,  but  their  first  message  was  one  of  an  open 
and  ready  self-indulgence.  The  costume,  flowing, 
loose  and  easy,  carried  out  the  same  thought;  the 
piled  black  hair  did  not  deny  it ;  the  smile  upon  the 
face,  amused,  half-cynical,  confirmed  it.  Here  was 
a  woman  of  her  own  acquaintance  with  the  world, 
you  would  have  said.  And  in  the  next  breath  you 
must  have  asked  how  she  could  have  been  the  mother 


MISS  LADY  5 

of  this  tall  girl,  at  whom  she  now  smiled  thus  mock- 
ingly. 

"I  was  just— I  was— well,  I  was  dancing,  mamma," 
said  Miss  Lady.  "It  is  so  nice."  This  somewhat 
vaguely. 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  her  mother ;  ' '  why  ? ' ' 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Miss  Lady,  frankly,  and 
turning  to  her  with  sudden  courage.  "I  was  danc- 
ing. That  is  all." 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"Well,  is  it  any  crime,  mamma,  I  should  like  to 
ask  ? ' '  This  with  spirit,  and  with  eyes  showing  them- 
selves able  to  flash  upon  occasion. 

"Not  in  the  least,  my  dear.  Indeed,  I  am  not  at 
all  surprised.  I  knew  it  was  coming." 

"What  was  coming,  mamma?  What  do  you 
mean?" 

"Why,  that  this  was  going  to  happen— that  you 
were  going  to  dance.  It  was  nearly  time." 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  mean." 

"It  was  always  thus  with  the  Ellisons,"  said  the 
other  woman.  "All  the  Ellisons  danced  this  way 
once  in  their  lives.  All  the  girls  do  so.  They're  very 
strange,  these  Ellison  girls.  They  dance  because  they 
must,  I  suppose.  It's  as  natural  as  breathing,  for 
them.  You  can't  help  it.  It's  fate.  But  listen,  child. 


6  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

It  is  time  I  took  you  more  in  hand.  You  will  be  mar- 
rying before  long " 

"Mamma!"  Miss  Lady  blushed  indignantly. 
"How  can  you  talk  so?  I  don't  know— I  didn't— 
I  shan't— " 

"Tut,  tut.  Please  don't.  It  is  going  to  be  a  very 
warm  day.  I  really  can't  go  into  any  argument. 
Take  my  word,  you  will  marry  soon;  or  if  you  don't, 
you  will  reverse  all  the  known  horoscopes  of  the 
family.  That,  too,  is  the  fate  of  the  Ellison  girls — 
certain  marriage !  Our  only  hope  is  in  some  miracle. 
It  is  time  for  me  to  take  you  in  hand.  Listen,  Lady. 
Let  me  ask  you  to  sit  a  trifle  farther  back  upon  that 
chair.  So,  that  is  better.  Now,  draw  the  skirt  a 
little  closer.  That  is  well.  Now,  sit  easily,  keep 
your  back  from  the  chair;  try  to  keep  your  feet 
concealed.  Remember,  Lady,  you  are  a  woman  now, 
and  there  are  certain  rules,  certain  little  things, 
which  will  help  you  so  much,  so  much." 

Mrs.  Ellison  sighed,  then  yawned,  touching  her 
white  teeth  with  the  tip  of  her  fan.  "Dear  me,  it 
certainly  is  going  to  be  warm,"  she  said  at  last. 
"Lady,  dear,  please  run  and  get  my  book,  won't  you? 
You  know  your  darling  mamma  is  getting  so — well, 
I  won't  say  fat,  God  forbid!  but  so— really— well, 
thank  you." 


MISS  LADY  7 

Miss  Lady  fled  gladly  and  swiftly  enough.  For 
an  instant  she  halted,  uncertain,  on  the  wide  gallery, 
her  face  troubled,  her  attitude  undecided.  Then,  in 
swift  mutiny,  she  sprang  down  the  steps  and  was  off 
in  open  desertion.  She  fled  down  the  garden  walk, 
and  presently  was  welcomed  riotously  by  a  score  of 
dogs  and  puppies,  long  since  her  friends. 

Left  alone,  the  elder  lady  sat  for  a  moment  in 
thought.  Her  face  now  seemed  harder  in  outline, 
more  enigmatical.  She  gazed  after  the  girl  who  left 
her,  and  into  her  eyes  came  a  look  which  one  must 
have  called  strangely  unmaternal — a  look  not  tender, 
but  hard,  calculating,  cold. 

"She  is  pretty,"  she  murmured  to  herself  half- 
aloud.  ' '  She  is  going  to  be  very  pretty— the  prettiest 
of  the  family  in  generations,  perhaps.  "Well-han- 
dled, that  girl  could  marry  anybody.  I'll  have  to  be 
careful  she  doesn't  marry  the  wrong  one.  They're 
headstrong,  these  Ellisons.  Still,  I  think  I  can  handle 
this  one  of  them.  In  fact,  I  must."  She  smiled 
gently  and  settled  down  into  a  half-reverie,  purring 
to  herself.  "Dear  me!"  she  resumed  at  length,  start- 
ing up,  "how  warm  it  grows!  Where  has  that  girl 
gone?  I  do  believe  she  has  run  away.  Delphine! 
Ah-h-h-h,  Delphine!" 

There  came  no  audible  sound  of  steps,  but  presently 


8  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

there  stood,  just  within  the  parted  draperies,  the 
figure  of  the  servant  thus  called  upon.  Yet  that  title 
sat  ill  upon  this  tall  young  woman  who  now  stood 
awaiting  the  orders  of  her  mistress.  Garbed  as  a 
servant  she  was,  yet  held  herself  rather  as  a  queen. 
Her  hair,  black  and  luxuriant,  was  straight  and 
strong,  and,  brushed  back  smoothly  from  her  temples 
as  it  was,  contrasted  sharply  with  a  skin  just  creamy 
enough  to  establish  it  as  otherwise  than  pure  white. 
Egyptian,  or  Greek,  or  of  unknown  race,  this  ser- 
vant, Delphine,  might  have  been ;  but  had  it  not  been 
for  her  station  and  surroundings,  one  could  never 
have  suspected  in  her  the  trace  of  negro  blood.  She 
stood  now,  a  mellow-tinted  statue  of  not  quite  yellow 
ivory,  silent,  turning  upon  her  mistress  eyes  large, 
dark  and  inscrutable  as  those  of  a  sphinx.  One  look- 
ing upon  the  two,  as  they  thus  confronted  each  other, 
must  have  called  them  a  strange  couple.  Why  they 
should  be  mistress  and  servant  was  not  a  matter  to  be 
determined  upon  a  first  light  guess.  Indeed,  they 
seemed  scarcely  such.  From  dark  eye  to  dark  eye 
there  seemed  to  pass  a  signal  of  covert  understand- 
ing, a  signal  of  doubt,  or  suspicion,  or  armed  neutral- 
ity, yet  of  mutual  comprehension. 

"Delphine,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  presently,  "bring 
me  a  glass  of  wine.    And  from  now  on,  Delphine,  see 


MISS  LADY  9 

to  it  that  you  watch  that  girl.  Tell  me  what  she  does. 
There's  very  little  restraint  of  any  kind  here  on  the 
plantation,  and  she  is  just  the  age— well,  you  must 
keep  me  informed.  You  may  bring  the  decanter, 
Delphine.  I  really  don't  feel  fit  for  breakfast." 


CHAPTER  II 

MULEY 

In  the  warm  sun  of  the  southern  morning  the  great 
plantation  lay  as  though  half-asleep,  dozing  and 
blinking  at  the  advancing  day.  The  plantation 
house,  known  in  all  the  country-side  as  the  Big  House, 
rested  calm  and  self-confident  in  the  middle  of  a 
wide  sweep  of  cleared  lands,  surrounded  immediately 
by  dark  evergreens  and  the  occasional  primeval  oaks 
spared  in  the  original  felling  of  the  forest.  Wide  and 
rambling  galleries  of  one  height  or  another  crawled 
here  and  there  about  the  expanses  of  the  building,  and 
again  paused,  as  though  weary  of  the  attempt  to  cir- 
cumvent it.  The  strong  white  pillars,  rising  from 
the  ground  floor  straight  to  the  third  story,  shone 
white  and  stately,  after  that  old  southern  fashion, 
that  Grecian  style,  simplified  and  made  suitable  to 
provincial  purses  by  those  Adams  brothers  of  old 
England  who  first  set  the  fashion  in  early  American 
architecture.  White-coated,  with  wide,  cool,  green 
blinds,  with  ample  and  wide-doored  halls  and  deep, 
low  windows,  the  Big  House,  here  in  the  heart  of  the 

10 


MULEY  11 

warm  South-land,  was  above  all  things  suited  to  its 
environment.  It  was  a  home  taking  firm  hold 
upon  the  soil,  its  wide  roots  reaching  into  traditions 
of  more  than  one  generation.  Well  toward  the  head 
of  the  vast  Yazoo-Mississippi  Delta,  the  richest  region 
on  the  face  of  the  whole  earth,  the  Big  House  ruled 
over  these  wide  acres  as  of  immemorial  right.  Its 
owner,  Colonel  Calvin  Blount,  was  a  king,  an  Ameri- 
can king,  his  right  to  rule  based  upon  full  proof  of 
fitness. 

In  the  heart  of  the  only  American  part  of  America, 
the  Big  House,  careless  and  confident,  could  afford 
to  lie  blinking  at  the  sun,  or  at  the  broad  acres  which 
blinked  back  at  it.  It  was  all  so  safe  and  sure  that 
there  was  no  need  for  anxiety.  Life  here  was  as  it 
had  been  for  generations,  even  for  the  generation  fol- 
lowing the  upheaval  of  the  Civil  War.  Open-handed, 
generous,  rich,  lazily  arrogant,  kindly  always,  though 
upon  occasions  fiercely  savage,  this  life  took  hold 
upon  that  of  a  hundred  years  ago.  These  strings  of 
blacks,  who  now,  answering  the  plantation  bell, 
slowly  crawled  down  the  lane  to  the  outlying  fields, 
might  still  have  been  slaves.  This  lazy  plow,  tickling 
the  opulent  earth,  might  have  been  handled  by  a 
slave  rather  than  by  this  hired  servitor,  whose  quaver- 
ing, plaintive  song,  broken  mid-bar  betimes,  now 


12  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

came  back  across  the  warm  distances  which  lay 
trembling  in  the  rays  of  the  advancing  sun.  These 
other  dark-skinned  servants,  dawdling  along  the  gal- 
leries, or  passing  here  and  yonder  from  the  detached 
quarters  of  kitchen,  and  cook-room,  and  laundry  and 
sleeping-rooms — they  also  humming  musically  at  their 
work,  too  full  of  the  sun  and  the  certainty  of  comfort 
to  need  to  hurry  even  with  a  song — all  these  might 
also  have  been  tenants  of  an  old-time  estate,  giving 
slow  service  in  return  for  a  life  of  carelessness  and 
irresponsibility.  This  was  in  the  South,  in  the  Delta, 
the  garden  of  the  South,  the  garden  of  America;  a 
country  crude,  primitive,  undeveloped  in  modern 
ways,  as  one  might  say,  yet  by  right  entitled  to  its 
own  assuredness.  It  asked  nothing  of  all  the  world. 
All  this  deep  rich  soil  was  given  to  the  people  of 
that  land  by  Father  Messasebe.  Yards  deep  it  lay, 
anciently  rich,  kissed  by  a  sun  which  caused  every 
growing  thing  to  leap  into  swift  fruition.  The  entire 
lesson  of  the  scene  was  one  of  an  absolute  fecundity. 
The  grass  was  deep  and  green  and  lush.  The  sweet 
peas  and  the  roses  and  the  morning-glories,  and  the 
honeysuckles  on  the  lattice,  hung  ranks  deep  in  blos- 
soms. A  hundred  flocks  of  fowl  ran  clucking  and 
chirping  about  the  yard.  Across  the  lawn  a  mother 
swine  led  her  brood  of  squeaking  and  squealing 


MULEY  13 

young.  A  half-hundred  puppies,  toddlers  or  half- 
grown,  romped  about,  unused  fragments  of  the  great 
hunting  pack  of  the  owner  of  this  kingdom.  Life, 
perhaps  short,  perhaps  rude,  perhaps  swiftly  done, 
yet  after  all  life — this  was  the  message  of  it  all.  The 
trees  grew  vast  and  tall.  The  corn,  where  the  stalks 
could  still  be  seen,  grew  stiff  and  strong  as  little 
trees.  The  cotton,  through  which  the  negroes  rode, 
their  black  kinky  heads  level  with  the  old  shreds  of 
ungathered  bolls,  showed  plants  rank  and  coarse 
enough  to  uphold  a  man's  weight  free  of  the  ground. 
This  sun  and  this  soil— what  might  they  not  do  in 
brooding  fecundity?  Growth,  reproduction,  the  mul- 
tifold—all this  was  written  under  that  sky  which  now 
swept,  deep  and  blue,  flecked  here  and  there  with 
soft  and  fleecy  clouds,  over  these  fruitful  acres  hewn 
from  the  primeval  forest. 

The  forest,  the  deep,  vast  forest  of  oak  and  ash 
and  gum  and  ghostly  sycamore;  the  forest,  tangled 
with  a  thousand  binding  vines  and  briers,  wattled  and 
laced  with  rank  blue  cane— sure  proof  of  a  soil  ex- 
haustlessly  rich — this  ancient  forest  still  stood,  mys- 
terious and  forbidding,  all  about  the  edges  of  the 
great  plantation.  Here  and  there  a  tall  white  stump, 
fire-blackened  at  its  foot,  stood,  even  in  fields  long  cul- 
tivated, showing  how  laborious  and  slow  had  been  the 


14  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

whittling  away  of  this  jungle,  which  even  now  con- 
tinually encroached  and  claimed  its  own.  The  rim 
of  the  woods,  marked  white  by  the  deadened  trees 
where  the  axes  of  the  laborers  were  reclaiming  yet 
other  acres  as  the  years  rolled  by,  now  showed  in  the 
morning  sun  distinctly,  making  a  frame  for  the  rich 
and  restful  picture  of  the  Big  House  and  its  lands. 
Now  and  again  overhead  there  swung  slowly  an  occa- 
sional great  black  bird,  its  shadow  not  yet  falling 
straight  on  the  sunlit  ground,  as  it  would  at  midday, 
when  the  puppies  of  the  pack  would  begin  their  daily 
pastime  of  chasing  it  across  the  fields. 

This  silent  surrounding  forest  even  yet  held  its 
ancient  creatures — the  swift  and  graceful  deer,  the 
soft-footed  panther,  the  shambling  black  bear,  the 
wild  hog,  the  wolf,  all  manner  of  furred  creatures, 
great  store  of  noble  wild  fowl— all  these  thriving 
after  the  fecund  fashion  of  this  brooding  land.  It 
was  a  kingdom,  this  wild  world,  a  realm  in  the  wilder- 
ness ;  a  kingdom  fit  for  a  bold  man  to  govern,  a  man 
such  as  might  have  ruled  in  days  long  gone  by.  And 
indeed  the  Big  House  and  its  scarcely  measured  acres 
kept  well  their  master  as  they  had  for  many  years. 
The  table  of  this  Delta  baron  was  almost  exclusively 
fed  from  these  acres;  scarce  any  item  needful  in 
his  life  required  to  be  imported  from  the  outer  world. 


MULEY  15 

The  government  of  America  might  have  fallen ;  anar- 
chy might  have  prevailed ;  a  dozen  states  might  have 
been  taken  over  by  a  foreign  foe;  a  score  of  states 
might  have  been  overwhelmed  by  national  calamity, 
and  it  all  had  scarce  made  a  ripple  here  in  this  land, 
apart,  rich,  self-supporting  and  content.  It  had  al- 
ways been  thus  here. 

But  if  this  were  a  kingdom  apart  and  self-sufficient, 
what  meant  this  thing  which  crossed  the  head  of  the 
plantation — this  double  line,  tenacious  and  continu- 
ous, which  shone  upon  the  one  hand  dark,  and  upon 
the  other,  where  the  sun  touched  it,  a  cold  gray  in 
color?  What  meant  this  squat  little  building  at  the 
side  of  these  rails  which  reached  out  straight  as 
the  flight  of  a  bird  across  the  clearing  and  vanished 
keenly  in  the  forest  wall?  This  was  the  road  of  the 
iron  rails,  the  white  man's  perpetual  path  across  the 
land.  It  clung  close  to  the  ground,  at  times  almost 
sinking  into  the  embankment  now  grown  scarcely 
discernible  among  the  concealing  grass  and  weeds, 
although  the  track  itself  had  been  built  but  recently. 
This  railroad  sought  to  efface  itself,  even  as  the  land 
sought  to  aid  in  its  effacement,  as  though  neither  be- 
lieved that  this  was  lawful  spot  for  the  path  of  the 
iron  rails.  None  the  less,  here  was  the  railroad,  in- 
eradicable, epochal,  bringing  change;  and,  one  might 


16  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

say,  it  made  a  blot  upon  this  picture  of  the  morning. 

An  observer  standing  upon  the  broad  gallery,  look- 
ing toward  the  eastward  and  the  southward,  might 
have  seen  two  figures  just  emerging  from  the  rim  of 
the  forest  something  like  a  mile  away ;  and  might  then 
have  seen  them  growing  slowly  more  distinct  as  they 
plodded  up  the  railway  track  toward  the  Big  House. 
Presently  these  might  have  been  discovered  to  be  a 
man  and  a  woman;  the  former  tall,  thin,  dark  and 
stooped ;  his  companion,  tall  as  himself,  quite  as  thin, 
and  almost  as  bent.  The  garb  of  the  man  was  nonde- 
script, neutral,  loose ;  his  hat  dark  and  flapping.  The 
woman  wore  a  shapeless  calico  gown,  and  on  her  head 
was  a  long,  telescopic  sunbonnet  of  faded  pink,  from 
which  she  must  perforce  peer  forward,  looking  neither 
to  the  right  nor  to  the  left. 

The  travelers,  indeed,  needed  not  to  look  to  the 
right  or  the  left,  for  the  path  of  the  iron  rails  led 
them  directly  on.  Now  and  again  clods  of  new- 
broken  earth  caused  them  to  stumble  as  they  hobbled 
loosely  along.  If  the  foot  of  either  struck  against 
the  rail,  its  owner  sprang  aside,  as  though  in 
fear,  toward  the  middle  of  the  track.  Slowly  and 
unevenly,  with  all  the  zigzags  permissible  within  the 
confining  inches  of  the  irons,  they  came  on  up  toward 
the  squat  little  station-house.  Thence  they  turned 


MULEY  17 

aside  into  the  plantation  path  and,  still  stumbling 
and  zigzagging,  ambled  up  toward  the  house.  They 
did  not  step  to  the  gallery,  did  not  knock  at  the  door, 
or,  indeed,  give  any  evidences  of  their  intentions,  but 
seated  themselves  deliberately  upon  a  pile  of  boards 
that  lay  near  in  the  broad  expanse  of  the  front  yard. 
Here  they  remained,  silent  and  at  rest,  fitting  well 
enough  into  the  sleepy  scene.  No  one  in  the  house 
noticed  them  for  a  time,  and  they,  tired  by  the  walk, 
seemed  content  to  rest  under  the  shade  of  the  ever- 
greens before  making  known  their  errand.  They  sat 
speechless  and  content  for  some  moments,  until  finally 
a  mulatto  house-servant,  passing  from  one  building  to 
another,  cast  a  look  in  their  direction,  and  paused 
uncertainly  in  curiosity.  The  man  on  the  board-pile 
saw  her. 

"Here,  Jinny!  Jinny!"  he  called,  just  loud  enough 
to  be  heard,  and  not  turning  toward  her  more  than 
half-way.  "Come  heah." 

"Yassah,"  said  the  girl,  and  slowly  approached. 

"Get  us  a  little  melk,  Jinny,"  said  the  speaker. 
"We're  plumb  out  o'  melk  down  home." 

"Yassah,"  said  Jinny;  and  disappeared  leisurely, 
to  be  gone  perhaps  half  an  hour. 

There  remained  little  sign  of  life  on  the  board- 
pile,  the  bonnet  tube  pointing  fixedly  toward  the  rail- 


18  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

way  station,  the  man  now  and  then  slowly  shifting 
one  leg  across  the  other,  but  staring  out  at  nothing, 
his  lower  lip  drooping  laxly.  When  the  servant  finally 
brought  back  the  milk-pail  and  placed  it  beside 
him,  he  gave  no  word  of  thanks.  The  sunbonnet 
shifted  to  include  the  mulatto  girl  within  its  full 
vision,  as  the  latter  stood  leaning  her  weight  on  one 
side-bent  foot,  idly  wiping  her  hands  upon  her  apron. 

"Folks  all  well  down  to  yo'  place,  Mistah  Bowles?" 
said  she,  affably. 

"Eight  well." 

"Um-h-h."  Silence  then  fell  until  Jinny  again 
found  speech. 

"Old  Bess,  that's  the  Gunnel's  favoright  dawg, 
you-all  know,  she  done  have  'leven  puppies  las' 
night." 

"That  so?" 

"Yassah.  Gunnel,  he's  off  down  on  the  Sun- 
flowah." 

"Um-h-h." 

"Yassah;  got  most  all  his  dawgs  wid  Mm.  We 
goin'  to  have  b 'ah  meat  now  for  sho'," — this  with  a 
wide  grin. 

"Reckon  so,"  said  the  visitor.  "When's  Gunnel 
coming  back,  you  reckon  ? ' ' 

"I  dunno,  suh,  but  he  sho'  won't  come  back  lessen 


MULEY  19 

he  gets  a  b'ah.  If  you-all  could  wait  a  while,  you-all 
could  take  back  some  b  'ah  meat,  if  you  wantuh. ' ' 

"Um-h-h,"  said  the  man,  and  fell  again  into  si- 
lence. To  all  appearances,  he  was  willing  to  wait  here 
indefinitely,  forgetful  of  the  pail  of  milk,  toward 
which  the  sun  was  now  creeping  ominously  close.  The 
way  back  home  seemed  long  and  weary  at  that  mo- 
ment. His  lip  drooped  still  more  laxly,  as  he  sat 
looking  out  vaguely. 

Not  so  calm  seemed  his  consort,  she  of  the  sun- 
bonnet.  Restored  to  some  extent  by  her  tarrying  in 
the  shade,  she  began  to  shift  and  hitch  about  uneasily 
upon  the  board-pile.  At  length  she  leaned  a  bit  to 
one  side,  reached  into  a  pocket  and,  taking  out  a  snuff- 
stick  and  a  parcel  of  its  attendant  compound,  began 
to  take  a  dip  of  snuff,  after  the  habit  of  certain 
of  the  population  of  that  region.  This  done,  she 
turned  with  a  swift  jerk  of  the  head,  bringing  to 
bear  the  tube  of  her  bonnet  in  full  force  upon  her 
lord  and  master. 

"Jim  Bowles,"  she  said,  "this  heah  is  a  shame! 
Hit 's  a  plumb  shame ! ' ' 

There  was  no  answer,  save  an  uneasy  hitch  on  the 
part  of  the  person  so  addressed.  He  seemed  to  feel 
the  focus  of  the  sunbonnet  boring  into  his  system. 


20  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

The  voice  in  the  bonnet  went  on,  shot  straight  toward 
him,  so  that  he  might  not  escape. 

"Hit's  a  plumb  shame,"  said  Mrs.  Bowles,  again. 

' '  I  know  it,  I  know  it, ' '  said  her  husband  at  length, 
uneasily.  "That  is,  about  us  having  to  walk  up 
heah.  That  whut  you  mean?" 

"Yassir,  that's  whut  I  do  mean,  an'  you  know  it." 

"Well,  now,  how  kin  I  help  it?  We  kain't  take 
the  only  mewel  we  got  and  make  the  nigger  stop 
wu'k.  That  ain't  reasonable.  Besides,  you  don't 
think  Gunnel  Blount  is  goin'  to  miss  a  pail  o'  melk 
now  and  then,  do  you?" 

A  snort  of  indignation  greeted  this  supposition. 

"Jim  Bowles,  you  make  me  sick,"  replied  his  wife. 
"We  kin  get  melk  heah  as  long  as  we  want  to,  o' 
co'se;  but  who  wants  to  keep  a-comin'  up  heah, 
three  mile,  for  melk?  It  ain't  right." 

"Well,  now,  Sar'  Ann,  how  kin  I  help  it?"  said 
Jim  Bowles.  "The  cow  is  daid,  an'  I  kain't  help  it, 
an'  that's  all  about  it.  My  God,  woman!"  this  with 
sudden  energy,  "do  you  think  I  kin  bring  a  cow  to 
life  that's  been  kilt  by  the  old  railroad  kyahs?  I 
ain't  no  'vangelist." 

"You  kain't  bring  old  Muley  to  life,"  said  Sarah 
Ann  Bowles,  "but  then — " 

"Well,  but  then!    But  whut?    Whut  you  goin' to 


MULEY  21 

do?  I  reckon  you  do  whut  you  do,  huh?  You  just 
walk  the  track  and  come  heah  after  melk,  I  reckon, 
if  you  want  it.  You  ought  to  be  mighty  glad  I  come 
along  to  keep  you  company.  'Tain't  every  man  goin' 
to  do  that,  I  want  to  tell  you.  Now,  it  ain't  my  fault 
old  Muley  done  got  kilt." 

"Ain'tyo'  fault!" 

"No,  it  ain't  my  fault.  Whut  am  I  goin'  to  do? 
I  kain't  get  no  otheh  cow  right  now,  an'  I  done  tol' 
you  so.  You  reckon  cows  grows  on  bushes?" 

"Grows  on  bushes!" 

"Yes,  or  that  they  comes  for  nuthin'?" 

"Comes  for  nuthin'!" 

"Yes,  Sar'  Ann,  that's  whut  I  said.  I  tell  you, 
it  ain't  so  fur  to  come,  ain't  so  fur  up  heah,  if  you 
take  it  easy;  only  three  mile.  An'  Gunnel  Blount'll 
give  us  inelk  as  long  as  we  want.  I  reckon  he 
would  give  us  a  cow,  too,  if  I  ast  him.  I  s'pose  I 
could  pay  him  out  o'  the  next  crop,  if  they  wasn't  so 
many  things  that  has  to  be  paid  out'n  the  crop.  It's 
too  blame  bad  'bout  Muley."  He  scratched  his  head 
thoughtfully. 

"Yes,"  responded  his  spouse,  "Muley  was  a  heap 
better  cow  than  you'll  ever  git  ag'in.  Why,  she  give 
two  quo'ts  o'  melk  the  very  mawnin'  she  was 
kilt — two  quo'ts.  I  reckon  we  didn't  have  to  walk 


22  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

no  three  mile  that  mawnin',  did  we?  An'  she  that 
kin'  and  gentle-like — oh,  we  ain't  goin'  to  git  no  new 
cow  like  Muley,  no  time  right  soon,  I  want  to  tell  you 
that,  Jim  Bowles." 

""Well,  well,  I  know  all  that,"  said  her  husband, 
conciliatingly,  a  trifle  easier  now  that  the  sunbonnet 
was  for  the  moment  turned  aside.  "That's  all  true, 
mighty  true.  But  what  kin  you  do?" 

"Do?  Why,  do  somethin'!  Somebody  sho'  ought 
to  suffer  for  this  heah.  This  new  fangled  railroad  a- 
comin'  through  heah,  a-killin'  things,  an'  a-killm' 
folks!  Why,  Bud  Sowers  said  just  the  other  week 
he  heard  of  three  darkies  gittin'  kilt  in  one  bunch 
down  to  Allenville.  They  standin'  on  the  track,  jes' 
talkin'  an'  visitin'  like.  Didn't  notice  nuthin'. 
Didn't  notice  the  train  a-comin'.  'Biff!'  says  Bud; 
an'  thah  was  them  darkies." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Bowles,  "that's  the  way  it  was 
with  Muley.  She  just  walk  up  out'n  the  cane,  an' 
stan'  thah  in  the  sun  on  the  track,  to  sort  o'  look 
aroun'  whah  she  could  see  free  fer  a  little  ways. 
Then,  'long  comes  the  railroad  train,  an'  biff!  Thah's 
Muley!" 

"Plumb  daid!" 

"Plumb  daid!" 

"An'  she  a  good  cow  for  us  for  fo'teen  yeahs! 


MULEY  23 

It  don't  look  exactly  right,  now,  does  it?  It  sho' 
don't." 

"It's  a  outrage,  that's  whut  it  is,"  said  Sar'  Ann 
Bowles. 

"Well,  we  got  the  railroad,"  said  her  husband, 
tentatively. 

"Yes,  we  got  the  railroad,"  said  Sar'  Ann  Bowles, 
savagely,  "an'  whut  yearthly  good  is  it?  Who 
wants  any  railroad?  Whut  use  have  we-all  got  fer 
it?  It  comes  through  ouah  farm,  an'  scares  ouah 
mewel,  an'  it  kills  ouah  cow;  an*  it's  got  me  so's 
I'm  af eared  to  set  foot  outsid'n  ouah  do',  lessen  it's 
goin'  to  kill  me,  too.  Why,  all  the  way  up  heah  this 
mawnin',  I  was  skeered  every  foot  of  the  way,  a-f ear- 
in'  that  there  ingine  was  goin'  to  come  along  an'  kill 
us  both!" 

"Sho'!  Sar'  Ann,"  said  her  husband,  with  superi- 
ority. "It  ain't  time  fer  the  train  yit — leastwise  I 
don't  think  it  is."  He  looked  about  uneasily. 

"That's  all  right,  Jim  Bowles.  One  of  them  in- 
gines  might  come  along  'most  any  time.  It  might 
creep  up  behin '  you,  then,  biff !  Thah  's  Jim  Bowles ! 
Whut  use  is  the  railroad,  I'd  like  to  know?  I 
wouldn't  be  caught  a-climbin'  in  one  o'  them  thah 
kyars,  not  fer  big  money.  Supposin'  it  run  off  the 
track?" 


24  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"Oh,  well,  now,"  said  her  husband,  "maybe  it 
don't,  always." 

' '  But  supposin '  it  did  f ' '  The  front  of  the  telescope 
turned  toward  him  suddenly,  and  so  perfect  was 
the  focus  this  time  that  Mr.  Bowles  shifted  his  seat 
and  took  refuge  upon  another  board  at  the  other  end 
of  the  board-pile,  out  of  range,  albeit  directly  in  the 
ardent  sunlight,  which,  warm  as  it  was,  did  not  seem 
to  him  so  burning  as  the  black  eyes  in  the  bonnet,  or 
so  troublous  as  the  tongue  which  went  on  with  its 
questions. 

"Whut  made  you  vote  fer  this  heah  railroad?" 
said  Sarah  Ann,  following  him  mercilessly  with  the 
bonnet  tube.  "We  didn't  want  no  railroad.  We 
never  did  have  one,  an'  we  never  ought  to  a-had  one. 
You  listen  to  me,  that  railroad  is  goin'  to  ruin  this 
country.  Thah  ain't  a  woman  in  these  heah  bottoms 
but  would  be  skeered  to  have  a  baby  grow  up  in  her 
house.  Supposin'  you  got  a  baby;  nice  little  baby, 
never  did  harm  no  one.  You  a-cookin'  or  somethin' — 
out  to  the  smoke-house  like  enough;  baby  alone  fer 
about  two  minutes.  Baby  crawls  out  on  to  the  rail- 
road track.  Along  comes  the  ingine,  an'  biff !  Thah's 
yo'  baby!" 

Mrs.  Bowles  shed  tears  at  this  picture  which  she 
had  conjured  up,  and  even  her  less  imaginative  con- 


MULEY  25 

sort  became  visibly  affected,  so  that  for  a  moment 
he  half  straightened  up. 

"Hit  don't  look  quite  right,"  said  he,  once  more. 
' '  But,  then,  whut  you  goin '  to  do  ?  Whut  kin  we  do, 
woman?"  he  asked  fiercely. 

"Why,  if  the  men  in  these  heah  parts  was  half 
men,"  said  his  wife,  "I  tell  you  whut  they'd  do. 
They'd  git  out  and  tear  up  every  foot  of  this  heah 
cussed  railroad  track,  an'  throw  it  back  into  the  cane. 
That's  whut  they'd  do." 

"Sho'  now,  would  you?"  said  Jim  Bowles. 

"Shore  I  would.  You  got  to  do  it  if  things  keeps 
on  this-away." 

"Well,  we  couldn't,  lessen  Gunnel  Blount  said  it 
was  all  right,  you  know.  The  Gunnel  was  the  friend 
of  the  road  through  these  heah  bottoms.  He  'lowed 
it  would  help  us  all." 

"Help?  Help  us?  Huh!  Like  to  know  how  it 
helps  us,  killin'  ouah  cow  an'  makin'  us  walk  three 
mile  of  a  hot  mornin '  to  git  a  pail  o '  melk  to  make  up 
some  co'hn  bread.  You  call  that  a  help,  do  you,  Jim 
Bowles?  You  may,  but  I  don't  an'  I  hain't  a-goin' 
to.  I  got  some  sense,  I  reckon.  Railroad !  Help ! 
Huh!" 

Jim  Bowles  crept  stealthily  a  little  farther  away  on 
his  own  side  of  the  board-pile,  whither  it  seemed  his 


26  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

wife  could  not  quite  so  readily  follow  him  with  her 
transfixing  gaze. 

"Well,  now,  Sar'  Ann,"  said  he,  "the  Gunnel 
done  tol'  me  hit  was  all  right.  He  said  some  of  ouah 
stock  like  enough  git  kilt,  'cause  you  know  these 
heah  bottoms  is  growed  up  so  close  like,  with  cane 
an'  all  that,  that  any  sort  of  critters  like  to  git  out 
where  it's  open,  so's  they  kin  sort  o'  look  around 
like,  you  know.  Why,  I  done  seen  four  deer  trails 
whils'  we  was  a-comin'  up  this  mawnin',  and  I  seen 
whah  a  b'ah  had  come  out  an'  stood  on  the  track. 
Now,  as  fer  cows,  an'  as  fer  niggers,  why,  it  stands 
to  reason  that  some  of  them  is  shore  goin'  to  git 
kilt,  that's  all." 

"An'  you  men  is  goin'  to  stand  that  from  the  rail- 
road? Why  don't  you  make  them  pay  for  whut  gits 
kilt?" 

"Well,  now,  Sar'  Ann,"  said  her  husband,  con- 
ciliatorily,  "that's  just  whut  I  was  goin'  to  say.  The 
time  the  fust  man  come  down  through  heah  to  talk 
about  buildin'  the  railroad,  he  done  said,  like  I  tol' 
you  Gunnel  Blount  said,  that  we  might  git  some  stock 
kilt  fer  a  little  while,  till  things  kind  o'  got  used  to 
it,  you  know;  but  he  'lowed  that  the  railroad  would 
sort  o'  pay  for  anything  that  got  kilt  like,  you 
know." 


MULEY  27 

"Pay!  The  railroad  goin'  to  pay  you!"  Again 
the  remorseless  sunbonnet  followed  its  victim  and 
fixed  him  with  its  focus.  "Pay  you!  I  didn't  notice 
no  money  layin'  on  the  track  where  we  come 
along  this  mawnin',  did  you?  Yes,  I  reckon  it's  goin* 
to  pay  you,  a  whole  heap !"  The  scorn  of  this  utter- 
ance was  limitless,  and  Jim  Bowles  felt  his  insignifi- 
cance in  the  untenable  position  which  he  had  as- 
sumed. 

"Well,  I  dunno,"  said  he,  vaguely,  and  sighed 
softly;  all  of  which  irritated  Mrs.  Bowles  to  such  an 
extent  that  she  flounced  suddenly  around  to  get  a 
better  gaze  upon  her  master.  In  this  movement,  her 
foot  struck  the  pail  of  milk  which  had  been  sitting 
near,  and  overturned  it. 

"Jinny,"  she  called  out,  "you,  Jinny!" 

"Yassam,"  replied  Jinny,  from  some  place  on  the 
gallery. 

' '  Come  heah, ' '  said  Mrs.  Bowles.  ' '  Git  me  another 
pail  o'  melk.  I  done  spilled  this  one." 

"Yassam,"  replied  Jinny,  and  presently  returned 
with  the  refilled  vessel. 

"Well,  anyway,"  said  Jim  Bowles  at  length,  rising 
and  standing  with  hands  in  pockets,  inside  the  edge 
of  the  shade  line  of  the  evergreens,  "I  heard  that 
thah  was  a  man  corne  down  through  heah  a  few  days 


28  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ago.  He  was  sort  of  takin'  count  o'  the  critters  that 
done  got  kilt  by  the  railroad  kyahs." 

"That  so?"  said  Sarah  Ann,  somewhat  mollified. 

"I  reckon  so,"  said  Jim  Bowles.  "I  'lowed  I'd  ast 
Gunnel  Blount  'bout  that  sometime.  0'  co'se  it  don't 
bring  Muley  back,  but  then — " 

"No,  hit  don't,"  said  Sarah  Ann,  resuming  her 
original  position.  "And  our  little  Sim,  he  just  loved 
that  Muley  cow,  little  Sim,  he  did,"  she  mourned. 

"Say,  Jim  Bowles,  do  you  heah  me?" — this  with 
a  sudden  flirt  of  the  sunbonnet  in  an  agony  of  actual 
fear.  "Why,  Jim  Bowles,  do  you  know  that  ouah 
little  Sim  might  be  a-playin'  out  thah  in  front  of 
ouah  house,  on  to  that  railroad  track,  at  this  very 
minute?  S'pose,  s'posen — along  comes  that  thah  rail- 
road train!  Say,  man,  whut  you  standin'  there  in 
that  thah  shade  fer?  We  got  to  go!  We  got  to  git 
home!  Come  right  along  this  minute,  er  we  may  be 
too  late." 

And  so,  smitten  by  this  sudden  thought,  they  gath- 
ered themselves  together  as  best  they  might  and 
started  toward  the  railroad  for  their  return.  Even 
as  they  did  so  there  appeared  upon  the  northern 
horizon  a  wreath  of  smoke  rising  above  the  forest. 
There  was  the  far-off  sound  of  a  whistle,  deadened 
by  the  heavy  intervening  vegetation;  and  presently 


MULEY  29 

there  puffed  into  view  one  of  the  railroad  trains  still 
new  upon  this  region.  Iconoclastic,  modern,  strenu- 
ous, it  wabbled  unevenly  over  the  new-laid  rails  up  to 
the  station-house,  where  it  paused  for  a  few  moments 
ere  it  resumed  its  wheezing  way  to  the  southward. 
The  two  visitors  at  the  Big  House  gazed  at  it  open- 
mouthed  for  a  time,  until  all  at  once  her  former 
thought  crossed  the  woman 's  mind.  She  turned  upon 
her  husband. 

' '  Thah  it  goes !  Thah  it  goes ! "  she  cried.  ' '  Eight 
on  straight  to  ouah  house!  It  kain't  miss  it!  An' 
little  Sim,  he's  sho'  to  be  playin'  out  thah  on  the 
track.  Oh,  he's  daid  right  this  minute,  he  sho'ly 
is!" 

Her  speech  exercised  a  certain  force  upon  Jim 
Bowles.  He  stepped  on  the  faster,  tripped  upon  a 
clod  and  stumbled,  spilling  half  the  milk  from  the 
pail. 

4 'Thah,  now!"  said  he.  "Thah  hit  goes  ag'in. 
Done  spilt  the  melk.  Well,  hit's  too  far  back  to 
the  house  now  fer  mo'.  But,  now,  mebbe  Sim  wasn't 
playin'  on  the  track." 

"Mebbe  he  wasn't!"  said  Sarah  Ann,  scornfully. 
"Why,  o'  co'se  he  was." 

"Well,  if  he  was,"  said  Jim  Bowles,  philosophi- 
cally, "why,  Sar'  Ann,  from  whut  I  done  notice 


30  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

about  this  yeah  railroad  train,  why — it's  too  late, 
now." 

He  might  perhaps  have  pursued  this  logical  course 
of  thought  further,  had  not  there  occurred  an  inci- 
dent which  brought  the  conversation  to  a  close.  Look- 
ing up,  the  two  saw  approaching  them  across  the 
lawn,  evidently  coming  from  the  little  railway  station, 
and  doubtless  descended  from  this  very  train,  the 
alert,  quick-stepping  figure  of  a  man  evidently  a 
stranger  to  the  place.  Jim  and  Sarah  Ann  Bowles 
stepped  to  one  side  as  he  approached  and  lifted  his 
hat  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"Good  morning,"  said  the  stranger.  "It's  a  fine 
day,  isn't  it?  Can  you  tell  me  whether  or  not  Colonel 
Blount  is  at  home  this  morning?" 

"Well,  suh,"  said  Jim  Bowles,  rubbing  his  chin 
thoughtfully.  "He  ah,  an'  he  ain't.  He's  home, 
o'  co'se;  that  is,  he  hain't  gone  away  no  whah,  to 
co'te  er  nothin'.  But  then  ag'in,  he's  out  huntin', 
gone  afteh  b'ah.  I  reckon  he's  likely  to  be  in  'most 
any  day  now." 

"'Most  any  day?" 

"Yessah.  You  better  go  on  up  to  the  house.  The 
Gunnel  will  be  right  glad  to  see  you.  You're  a 
stranger  in  these  parts,  I  reckon  ?  I  'd  be  glad  to  have 
you  stop  down  to  my  house,  but  it's  three  mile  down 


MULEY  31 

the  track,  an*  we  hatter  walk.  You'd  be  mo'  com- 
fo 'table  heah,  I  reckon.  "Walk  on  up,  and  tell  'em 
to  give  you  a  place  to  set.  My  woman  an'  me,  I 
reckon  we  got  to  git  home  now,  suh.  It's  somethin' 
might  be  mighty  serious." 

"Yas,  indeed,"  murmured  Mrs.  Bowles,  "we  got 
to  git  along." 

' '  Thank  you, ' '  said  the  stranger.  ' '  I  am  very  much 
obliged  to  you,  indeed.  I  believe  I  will  wait  here  for 
just  a  little  while,  as  you  say.  Good  morning,  sir. 
Good  morning,  madam." 

He  turned  and  walked  slowly  up  the  path  toward 
the  house,  as  the  others  pursued  their  way  to  the 
railroad  track,  down  which  they  presently  were  plod- 
ding on  their  homeward  journey.  There  was  at  least 
a  little  milk  left  in  the  pail  when  finally  they  reached 
their  log  cabin,  with  its  yard  full  of  pigs  and 
chickens.  Eagerly  they  scanned  the  sides  of  the  rail- 
way embankment  as  they  drew  near,  looking  for  signs 
of  what  they  feared  to  see.  One  need  not  describe  the 
fierce  joy  with  which  Sarah  Ann  Bowles  fell  upon 
little  Sim,  who  was  presently  discovered,  safe  and 
dirty,  knocking  about  upon  the  kitchen  floor  in  abun- 
dant company  of  puppies,  cats  and  chickens.  As  to 
the  reproaches  which  she  heaped  upon  her  husband 


32  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

in  her  happiness,  it  is  likewise  unnecessary  to  dwell 
thereupon. 

"I  knowed  he  would  be  kilt,"  said  Sarah  Ann. 

"But  he  hain't/'  said  her  husband,  triumphantly. 
And  for  one  time  in  their  married  life  there  seemed 
to  be  no  possible  way  in  which  she  might  contradict 
him,  which  fact  for  her  constituted  a  situation  some- 
what difficult. 

"Well,  'tain't  yo'  fault  ef  he  hain't,"  said  she  at 
length.  The  rest  of  her  revenge  she  took  upon  the 
person  of  little  Sim,  whom  she  alternately  chastened 
and  embraced,  to  the  great  and  grieved  surprise  of  the 
latter,  who  remained  ignorant  of  any  existing  or 
pending  relation  upon  his  part  with  the  methods  or 
the  instruments  of  modern  progress. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  VISITOR 

The  new-comer  at  the  Big  House  was  a  well-look- 
ing figure  as  he  advanced  up  the  path  toward 
the  white-pillared  galleries.  In  height  just  above 
middle  stature,  and  of  rather  spare  habit  of  body, 
alert,  compact  and  vigorous,  he  carried  himself  with 
a  half-military  self-respect,  redeemed  from  aggres- 
siveness by  an  open  candor  of  face  and  the  pleasant, 
forthright  gaze  of  kindly  blue-gray  eyes.  In  spite 
of  a  certain  gravity  of  mien,  his  eyes  seemed  wont 
to  smile  upon  occasion,  as  witnessed  divers  little 
wrinkles  at  the  corners.  He  was  smooth-shaven,  ex- 
cept for  a  well-trimmed  dark  mustache;  the  latter 
offering  a  distinct  contrast  to  the  color  of  his  hair, 
which,  apparently  not  in  full  keeping  with  his 
years,  was  lightly  sprinkled  with  gray.  Yet  his  car- 
riage was  assuredly  not  that  of  middle  age,  and  in- 
deed, the  total  of  his  personality,  neither  young  nor 
old,  neither  callow  nor  acerb,  neither  lightly  unre- 
served nor  too  gravely  severe,  offered  certain  prob- 
lems not  capable  of  instant  solution.  A  hurried 

33 


34  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

observer  might  have  guessed  his  age  within  ten  years, 
but  might  have  been  wrong  upon  either  side,  and 
might  have  had  an  equal  difficulty  in  classifying  his 
residence  or  occupation. 

Whatever  might  be  said  of  this  stranger,  it  was 
evident  that  he  was  not  ill  at  ease  in  this  environ- 
ment ;  for  as  he  met  coming  around  the  corner  an  old 
colored  man,  who,  with  a  rag  in  one  hand  and  a  bottle 
in  the  other,  seemed  intent  upon  some  errand  at  the 
dog  kennel  beyond,  the  visitor  paused  not  in  query  or 
salutation,  but  tossed  his  umbrella  to  the  servant  and 
at  the  same  time  handed  him  his  traveling-bag. 
"Take  care  of  these,  Bill,"  said  he. 

Bill,  for  that  was  indeed  his  name,  placed  the  bag 
and  umbrella  upon  the  gallery  floor,  and  with  the  air 
of  owning  the  place  himself,  invited  the  visitor  to 
enter  the  Big  House. 

"The  Gunnel's  not  to  home,  suh,"  said  Bill.  "But 
you  bettah  come  in  and  seddown.  I'll  go  call  the 
folks." 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  visitor.  "I  reckon  I'll 
just  walk  around  a  little  outside.  I  hear  Colonel 
Blount  is  off  on  a  bear  hunt." 

"Yassah,"  said  Bill.  "An'  when  he  goes  he 
mostly  gits  b'ah.  I'se  right  'spondent  dis  time, 
though,  'deed  I  is,  suh." 


THE  VISITOR  35 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Why,  you  see,  suh,"  replied  Bill,  leaning  com- 
fortably back  against  a  gallery  post,  "it's  dis-away. 
I'm  just  goin'  out  to  fix  up  old  Hec's  foot.  He's 
ouah  bestest  b'ah-dog,  but  he  got  so  blame  biggoty, 
las'  time  he  was  out,  stuck  his  foot  right  intoe  a 
b'ah's  mouth.  Now,  Hec's  lef  home,  an'  me  lef 
home  to  'ten'  to  Hec.  How  kin  Gunnel  Blount  git 
ary  b'ah  'dout  me  and  Hec  along?  I'se  right 
'spondent,  dat's  whut  I  is." 

"Well,  now,  that's  too  bad,"  said  the  stranger, 
with  a  smile. 

"Too  bad?  I  reckon  it  sho'  is.  Fer,  if  Gunnel 
Blount  don't  git  no  b'ah — look  out  den,  /  kin  tell 
you." 

"Gets  his  dander  up,  eh?" 

"Dandah— dandah!  You  know  him?  Th 'ain't 
no  better  boss,  but  ef  he  goes  out  huntin'  b'ah  an' 
don't  get  no  'b'ah — why,  then  th 'ain't  no  reason 
goin'  do  foh  him." 

"Is  Mrs.  Blount  at  home,  Bill?" 

"Th 'ain't  no  Mrs.  Blount,  and  I  don't  reckon  they 
neveh  will  be.  Gunnel  too  busy  huntin'  b'ah  to  git 
married.  They's  two  ladies  heah,  no  relation  o'  him; 
they  done  come  heah  a  yeah  er  so  ago,  and  they-all 
keeps  house  fer  the  Gunnel.  That's  Mrs.  Ellison  and 


36 

her  dahteh,  Miss  Lady.     She's  a  pow'ful  fine  gal, 
Miss  Lady." 

"I  don't  know  them,"  said  the  visitor. 

"No,  sah,"  said  Bill.  "They  ain't  been  heah  long. 
Dese  heah  low-down  niggers  liken  to  steal  the  Gunnel 
blin',  he  away  so  much.  One  day,  he  gits  right  mad. 
'Lows  he  goin'  to  advehtize  fer  a  housekeepah- 
lady.  Then  Mas'  Henry  'Cherd — he's  gemman  been 
livin'  couple  o'  yeahs  'er  so  down  to  near  Vicksburg, 
some'rs;  he's  out  huntin'  now  with  the  Gunnel — 
why,  Mas'  'Cherd  he  'lows  he  knows  whah  thah's  a 
lady,  jus'  the  thing.  Law!  Gunnel  didn't  spec'  no 
real  lady,  you  know,  jes'  wantin'  housekeepah.  But 
long  conies  this  heah  lady,  Mrs.  Ellison,  an'  brings 
this  heah  young  lady,  too— real  quality.  'Miss  Lady' 
we-all  calls  her,  right  to  once.  Orto  see  Gunnel  Gal 
Blount  den!  'Now,  I  reckon  I  kin  go  huntin'  peace- 
ful,' says  he.  So  dem  two  tuk  holt.  Been  heah  ever 
since.  Mas'  'Cherd,  he  has  in  min'  this  heah  yallah 
gal,  Delpheem.  Right  soon,  heah  come  Delpheem 
'long  too.  Reckon  she  runs  the  kitchen  all  right. 
Anyways  we's  got  white  folks  in  the  pariah,  whah 
they  allus  orto  be  white  folks." 

"Well,  you  ought  to  thank  your  friend— what  is 
his  name— Ducherd— Decherd?  Seems  as  though  I 
had  heard  that  name,  below  somewhere." 


THE  VISITOR  37 

"Yas,  Mas'  Henry  'Cherd.  "We  does  thank  him. 
He  sut'nly  done  fix  us  all  up  wid  women-folks.  We 
couldn't  no  mo'  git  erlong  'dout  Miss  Lady  now, 
'n  we  could  'dout  me,  er  the  Gunnel.  But,  law!  it 
don't  make  no  diff'ence  to  Gunnel  Blount  who's 
heah  or  who  ain't  heah,  he  jest  gotter  hunt  b'ah. 
You  come  'long  wid  me,  I  could  show  you  b  'ah  hides 
up  stairs,  b'ah  hides  on  de  roof,  b'ah  hides  on  de 
sheds,  b  'ah  hides  on  de  barn,  and  a  tame  b  'ah  hitched 
to  the  cotton-gin  ovah  thah. ' ' 

"He  seems  to  make  a  sort  of  specialty  of  bear, 
doesn  't  he  ?  Got  a  pretty  good  pack,  eh  ? " 

"Pack?  I  should  say  we  has!  We  got  the  bestest 
b'ah  pack  in  Miss'ippi,  er  in  de  whole  worF.  We 
sho'  is  fixed  up  fer  huntin'.  But,  now,  look  heah, 
two  three  days  ago  the  railroad  kyahs  done  run  ovah 
a  fine  colt  whut  de  Gunnel  was  raisin'  fer  a  saddle 
hoss — kilt  it  plumb  daid.  That  riled  him  a  heap. 
'Damn  the  railroad  kyahs,'  sez  he.  An'  den  off  he 
goes  huntin',  sort  o'  riled  like.  Now,  ef  he  comes 
back,  and  ef  he  don't  git  no  b'ah,  why,  you  won't  see 
old  Bill  'round  heah  fer  'bout  fo'  days." 

"You  seem  to  know  him  pretty  well." 

"Know  him?  I  orto.  Raised  wid  him,  an'  lived 
heah  all  my  life.  Now,  when  you  see  Gunnel  Blount 
come  home,  he'll  come  up  'long  dat  lane,  him  an' 


38  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

de  dogs,  an'  dem  no  'count  niggers  he  done  took 
'long  wid  him;  an'  when  he  gits  up  to  whah  de 
lane  crosses  de  railroad  track,  ef  he  come  ridin' 
'long  easy  like,  now  an'  den  tootin'  his  hawn  to 
so'ht  o'  let  us  know  he's  a-comin' — ef  he  do  dat- 
away,  dat's  all  right,— dat's  all  right."  Here  the 
garrulous  old  servant  shook  his  head.  "But  ef  he 
don't — well  den — " 

"That's  bad,  if  he  doesn't,  eh?" 

"Yassah.  Ef  he  don'  come  a-blowin'  an'  ef  he 
do  come  a-singin',  den  look  out!  I  allus  did  notice, 
ef  Gunnel  Blount  'gins  to  sing  'ligious  hymns, 
somethin's  wrong,  and  somethin'  gwine  ter  drap.  He 
hain't  right  easy  ter  git  along  wid  when  he's  a-singin'. 
But  if  you'll  'scuse  me,  suh,  I  gotter  take  care  o' 
old  Hec.  Jest  make  yourself  to  home,  suh, — anyways 
you  like." 

The  visitor  contented  himself  with  wandering  about 
the  yard,  until  at  length  he  seated  himself  on  the 
board-pile  beneath  the  evergreen  trees,  and  so  sank 
into  an  idle  reverie,  his  chin  in  his  hand,  and  his  eyes 
staring  out  across  the  wide  field.  His  face,  now  in 
repose,  seemed  more  meditative;  indeed  one  might 
have  called  it  almost  mournful.  The  shoulders 
drooped  a  trifle,  as  though  their  owner  for  the  time 
forgot  to  pull  himself  together.  He  sat  thus  for 


THE  VISITOR  39 

some  time,  and  the  sun  was  beginning  to  encroach 
upon  his  refuge,  when  suddenly  he  was  aroused  by 
the  faint  and  far-off  sound  of  a  hunting  horn.  That 
the  listener  distinguished  it  at  such  a  distance  might 
have  argued  that  he  himself  had  known  hound  and 
saddle  in  his  day;  yet  he  readily  caught  the  note  of 
the  short  hunting  horn  universally  used  by  the 
southern  hunters,  and  recognized  the  assembly  call 
for  the  hunting  pack.  As  it  came  near,  all  the  dogs 
that  remained  in  the  kennel  yards  heard  it  and  raged 
to  escape  from  their  confinement.  Old  Bill  came 
hobbling  around  the  corner.  Steps  were  heard  on 
the  gallery,  and  the  visitor's  face  showed  a  slight 
uneasiness  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  certain  spot 
now  suddenly  made  alive  by  the  flutter  of  a  soft 
gown  and  the  flash  of  a  bunch  of  scarlet  ribbons. 
Thither  he  gazed  as  directly  as  he  might  in  these 
circumstances. 

"Dat's  her!  dat's  Miss  Lady!"  said  Bill  to  his  new 
friend,  in  a  low  voice.  "Han'somest  young  lady  in 
de  hull  Delta.  Dey'll  all  be  right  glad  ter  see  de 
Cunnel  back.  He's  got  a  b'ah  sho',  fer  he's  comin' 
a-blowin'." 

Bill's  joy  was  not  long-lived,  for  even  as  the  little 
cavalcade  came  in  view,  a  tall  figure  on  a  chestnut 
hunting  horse  riding  well  in  advance,  certain  colored 


40  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

stragglers  following,  and  the  party-colored  pack 
trotting  or  limping  along  on  all  sides,  the  music  of 
the  summoning  horn  suddenly  ceased.  Looking  nei- 
ther to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  the  leader  of  the  hunt 
rode  on  up  the  lane,  sitting  loose  and  careless  in  the 
saddle,  his  right  hand  steadying  a  short  rifle  across 
the  saddle  front.  He  rode  thus  until  presently  those 
at  the  Big  House  heard,  softly  rising  on  the  morning 
air,  the  chant  of  an  old  church  hymn :  "On  Jordan's 
strand  I'll  take  my  stand,  An-n-n — " 

"Oh,  Lawd!"  exclaimed  Bill.  "Dat's  his  very 
wustest  chune. ' '  Saying  which  he  dodged  around  the 
corner  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION 

Turning  in  from  the  lane  at  the  yard  gate,  Colonel 
Calvin  Blount  and  his  retinue  rode  close  up  to  the 
side  door  of  the  plantation  house;  but  even  here  the 
master  vouchsafed  no  salutation  to  those  who  awaited 
his  coming.  He  was  a  tall  man,  broad-shouldered, 
lean  and  muscular;  yet  so  far  from  being  thin  and 
dark,  he  was  spare  rather  from  physical  exercise  than 
through  gaunt  habit  of  body;  his  complexion  was 
ruddy  and  sun-colored,  and  the  long  mustache  hang- 
ing across  his  jaws  showed  a  deep  mahogany-red. 
Western  ranchman  one  might  have  called  him,  rather 
than  southern  planter.  Scotch-Irish,  generations 
back,  perhaps,  yet  southern  always,  and  by  birth- 
right American,  he  might  have  been  a  war-lord  of 
another  land  and  day.  No  feudal  baron  ever  dis- 
mounted with  more  assuredness  at  his  own  hall,  to 
toss  careless  rein  to  a  retainer.  He  stood  now,  tall 
and  straight,  a  trifle  rough-looking  in  his  careless 
planter's  dress,  but  every  inch  the  master.  A  slight 

41 


42  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

frown  puckered  up  his  forehead,  giving  to  his  face 
an  added  hint  of  sternness. 

Behind  this  leading  figure  of  the  cavalcade  came  a 
younger  man.  In  age  perhaps  at  the  mid  thirties, 
tall,  slender,  with  dark  hair  and  eyes  and  with  a  dark 
mustache  shading  his  upper  lip,  Henry  Decherd, 
formerly  of  New  Orleans,  for  a  few  years  dweller  in 
the  Delta,  sometime  guest  of  Colonel  Blount  at  the 
Big  House  plantation  and  companion  of  the  hunt, 
made  now  a  figure  if  not  wholly  eye-filling,  at  least 
handsome  and  distinguished.  His  dress  was  neat  to 
the  verge  of  foppishness,  nor  did  it  seem  much  disor- 
dered by  the  hardships  of  the  chase.  Upon  his  clean- 
cut  face  there  sat  a  certain  arrogance,  as  of  one  at 
least  desirous  of  having  his  own  way  in  his  own 
sphere.  Not  an  ill-looking  man,  upon  the  whole,  was 
Henry  Decherd,  though  his  reddish-yellow  eyes,  a  bit 
oblique  in  their  setting,  gave  the  impression  alike  of 
a  certain  touchiness  of  temper  and  an  unpleasantly 
fox-like  quality  of  character.  There  was  an  air  not 
barren  of  self-consciousness  as  he  threw  himself  out 
of  the  saddle,  for  it  might  have  been  seen  that  under 
his  saddle,  and  not  that  of  Colonel  Blount,  there 
rested  the  black  and  glossy  hide  of  the  great  bear 
which  had  been  the  object  of  the  chase.  Decherd 
stood  with  his  hand  resting  on  the  hide  and  gazed 


A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  43 

somewhat  eagerly,  one  might  have  thought,  toward 
the  gallery  whence  came  the  flash  of  scarlet  ribbons. 

Colonel  Blount  busied  himself  with  directions  as 
to  the  horses  and  dogs.  The  latter  came  straggling 
along  in  groups  or  pairs  or  singles,  some  of  them 
hobbling  on  three  legs,  many  showing  bitter  wounds. 
The  chase  of  the  great  bear  had  proved  stern  pastime 
for  them.  Of  half  a  hundred  hounds  which  had 
started,  not  two-thirds  were  back  again,  and  many  of 
these  would  be  unfit  for  days  for  the  resumption  of 
their  savage  trade.  None  the  less,  as  the  master 
sounded  again,  loud  and  clear,  the  call  for  the  as- 
sembly, all  the  dogs  about  the  place,  young  and  old, 
homekeepers  and  warriors,  came  pouring  in  with 
heads  uplifted,  each  pealing  out  his  sweet  and  mourn- 
ful music.  Colonel  Blount  spoke  to  dozens  of  them, 
calling  each  by  its  proper  name. 

"Here,  Bill,"  he  called  to  that  worthy,  who  had 
now  ventured  to  return  from  his  hiding-place,  "take 
them  out  to  the  yard  and  fix  them  up.  Now,  boys,  go 
around  to  the  kitchen  and  tell  them  to  give  you  some- 
thing to  eat." 

In  the  confusion  of  the  disbandment  of  the  hunt, 
the  master  of  the  Big  House  had  as  yet  hardly  found 
time  to  look  about  him,  but  now,  as  the  conclave  scat- 
tered, he  found  himself  alone,  and  turning,  discov- 


44  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ered  the  occupant  of  the  board-pile,  who  arose  and 
advanced,  offering  his  hand. 

' '  This  is  Colonel  Blount,  I  presume, ' '  said  he. 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  my  name.  I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm 
sure,  but  I  didn't  know  you  were  there.  Come  right 
on  into  the  house  and  sit  down,  sir.  Now,  your  name 
is—?" 

"Eddring,"  said  the  new-comer.  "John  Eddring. 
I  am  just  down  on  the  morning  train  from  the  city." 

"I'm  right  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Eddring,"  said 
Colonel  Blount,  extending  his  hand.  "It  seems  to 
me  I  ought  to  know  your  family.  Over  round  Hills- 
boro,  aren't  you?  Tell  me,  you're  not  the  son  of  old 
Dan  H.  Eddring  of  the  Tenth  Mississippi  in  the 
war  ? ' ' 

"That  was  an  uncle  of  mine." 

"Is  that  so,  is  that  so?  Why,  Dan  H.  Eddring 
was  my  father's  friend.  They  slept  and  fought  and 
ate  together  for  four  years,  until  my  father  was 
killed  in  the  Wilderness." 

"And  my  uncle  before  Richmond;  John  Eddring, 
my  father,  long  before,  at  Ball's  Bluff." 

' '  I  was  in  some  of  that  fighting  myself, ' '  said  Col- 
onel Blount,  rubbing  his  chin.  "I  was  a  boy,  just  a 
boy.  Well,  it's  all  over  now.  Come  on  in.  I'm 
mighty  glad  to  see  you."  Yet  the  two,  without  plan, 


45 

had  now  wandered  over  toward  the  shade  of  the 
evergreen,  and  presently  they  seated  themselves  on 
the  board-pile. 

''Well,  Colonel  Blount,"  said  the  visitor,  "I 
reckon  you  must  have  had  a  good  hunt." 

"Yes,  sir,  there  ain't  a  b'ah  in  the  Delta  can  get 
away  from  those  dogs.  "We  run  this  fellow  straight 
on  end  for  ten  miles ;  put  him  across  the  river  twice, 
and  all  around  the  Black  Bayou,  but  the  dogs  kept 
him  hot  all  the  time,  I'm  telling  you,  for  more  than 
five  miles  through  the  cane,  clean  beyond  the  bayou. ' ' 

"Who  got  the  shot,  Colonel?"  asked  Eddring— a 
question  apparently  most  unwelcome. 

"Well,  I  ought  to  have  had  it,"  said  Blount,  with 
a  frown  of  displeasure.  "The  fact  is,  I  did  take  a 
flying  chance  from  horseback,  when  the  b'ah  ran  by 
in  the  cane  half  a  mile  back  of  where  they  killed  him. 
Somehow  I  must  have  missed.  A  little  while  later  I 
heard  another  shot,  and  found  that  young  gentleman 
there,  Mr.  Decherd,  had  beat  me  in  the  ride.  But 
man!  you  ought  to  have  heard  that  pack  for  two 
hours  through  the  woods.  It  certainly  would  have 
raised  your  hair  straight  up.  You  ever  hunt  b'ah, 
sir?" 

"A  little,  once  in  a  while,  when  I  have  the  time." 

"Well,  you  don't  go  away  from  here  without  hav- 


46  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ing  a  good  hunt.  You  just  wait  a  day  or  so  until  my 
dogs  get  rested  up." 

"Thank  you,  Colonel,  but  I  am  afraid  I  can't  stay. 
You  see,  I  am  down  here  on  a  matter  of  business." 

"Business,  eh?  "Well,  a  man  that'll  let  business  in- 
terfere with  a  b'ah  hunt  has  got  something  wrong 
about  him." 

"Well,  you  see,  a  railroad  man  can't  always 
choose,"  said  his  guest. 

"Railroad  man?"  said  Colonel  Blount.  A  sudden 
gloom  fell  on  his  ruddy  face.  "Railroad  man,  eh? 
Well,  I  wish  you  was  something  else.  Now,  I  helped 
get  that  railroad  through  this  country— if  it  hadn't 
been  for  me,  they  never  could  have  laid  a  mile  of 
track  through  here.  But  now,  do  you  know  what 
they  done  did  to  me  the  other  day,  with  their  damned 
old  railroad?" 

"No,  sir,  I  haven't  heard." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you-Bill!  Oh,  Bill!  Go  into  the 
house  and  get  me  some  ice;  and  go  pick  some  mint 
and  bring  it  here  to  this  gentleman  and  me —  Say, 
do  you  know  what  that  railroad  did?  Why,  it  just 
killed  the  best  filly  on  my  plantation,  my  best  run- 
ning stock,  too.  Now,  I  was  the  man  to  help  get  that 
railroad  through  the  Delta,  and  I— 

"Well,  now,  Colonel  Blount,"  said  the  other,  "the 


A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  47 

road  isn't  a  bad  sort  of  thing  for  you-all  down  here, 
after  all.  It  relieves  you  of  the  river  market  and  it 
gives  you  a  double  chance  to  get  out  your  cotton. 
You  don't  have  to  haul  your  cotton  twelve  miles  back 
to  the  boat  any  more.  Here  is  your  station  right  at 
your  door,  and  you  can  load  on  the  cars  any  day  you 
want  to." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  that's  all  right.  But  this 
killing  of  my  stock?" 

"Well,  that's  so,"  said  the  other,  facing  the  point 
and  ruminatingly  biting  a  splinter  between  his  teeth. 
"It  does  look  as  if  we  had  killed  about  everything 
loose  in  the  whole  Delta  during  the  last  month  or  so. ' ' 

"Are  you  on  this  railroad?"  asked  Blount,  sud- 
denly. 

"I  reckon  I'll  have  to  admit  that  I  am,"  said  the 
other,  smiling. 

"Passenger  agent,  or  something  of  that  sort,  I 
reckon?  Well,  let  me  tell  you,  you  change  your 
road.  Say,  there  was  a  man  down  below  here  last  week 
settling  up  claims — Bill!  Ah-h,  Bill!  Where  you 
gone?" 

"Yes,"  said  Eddring,  "it  certainly  did  seem  that 
when  we  built  this  road  every  cow  and  every  nigger, 
not  to  mention  a  lot  of  white  folks,  made  a  bee-line 
straight  for  our  right-of-way.  Why,  sir,  it  was  a  solid 


48  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

line  of  cows  and  niggers  from  Memphis  to  New  Or- 
leans. How  could  you  blame  an  engineer  if  he  run 
into  something  once  in  a  while ?  He  couldn't  help  it. " 

"Yes.  Now,  do  you  know  what  this  claim  settler, 
this  claim  agent  man  did?  Why,  he  paid  a  man 
down  below  here  two  stations — what  do  you  tliirik  he 
paid  him  for  as  fine  a  heifer  as  ever  eat  cane  ?  Why, 
fifteen  dollars!" 

"Fifteen  dollars!" 

"Yes,  fifteen  dollars." 

"That  looks  like  a  heap  of  money  for  a  heifer, 
doesn't  it,  Colonel  Blount?" 

"A  heap  of  money?  Why,  no.  Heap  of  money? 
Why,  what  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"Heifers  didn't  bring  that  before  the  road  came 
through.  Why,  you  would  have  had  to  drive  that 
heifer  twenty-five  miles  before  you  could  get  a  mar- 
ket, and  then  she  wouldn't  have  brought  over  twelve 
dollars.  Now,  fifteen  dollars,  seems  to  me,  is  about 
right." 

"Well,  let  the  heifer  go.  But  there  was  a  cow  killed 
three  miles  below  here  the  other  day.  Neighbors  of 
mine.  I  reckon  that  claim  agent  wouldn't  want  to 
allow  any  more  than  fifteen  dollars  for  Jim  Bowies' 
cow,  neither." 

"Maybe  not." 


A  QUESTION  OP  VALUATION  49 

"Well,  never  mind  about  the  cow,  either;  but  look 
here.  A  nigger  lost  his  wife  down  there,  killed  by 
these  steam  cars — looks  like  the  niggers  get  fas- 
cinated by  them.  cars.  But  here's  Bill  coming  at  last. 
Now,  Mr.  Eddring,  we'll  just  make  a  little  julep.  Tell 
me,  how  do  you  make  a  julep,  sir?" 

Eddring  hitched  a  little  nearer  on  the  board-pile. 
"Well,  Colonel  Blount,"  said  he,  "in  our  family  we 
used  to  have  an  old  silver  mug— sort  of  plain  mug, 
you  know,  few  flowers  around  the  edge  of  it— been  in 
the  family  for  years.  Now,  you  take  a  mug  like  that, 
and  let  it  lie  in  the  ice-box  all  the  time,  and  when  you 
take  it  out,  it's  sort  of  got  a  white  frost  all  over  it. 
Now,  my  old  daddy,  he  would  take  this  mug  and  put 
some  fine  ice  into  it,— not  too  fine.  Then  he'd  take  a 
little  cut  loaf  sugar,  in  another  glass,  and  he'd  mash 
it  up  in  a  little  water— not  too  much  water— then  he'd 
pour  that  in  over  the  ice.  Then  he  would  pour  some 
good  corn  whisky  in  till  all  the  interstices  of  that  ice 
were  filled  plumb  up;  then  he'd  put  some  mint—" 

' '  Didn  't  smash  the  mint  ?  Say,  he  didn  't  smash  the 
mint,  did  he  ? "  said  Colonel  Blount,  eagerly,  hitching 
over  toward  the  speaker. 

"Smash  it?  I  should  say  not,  sir!  Sometimes,  at 
certain  seasons  of  the  mint,  he  might  just  sort  of  take 
a  twist  at  the  leaf,  to  sort  of  release  a  little  of  the 


50  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

flavor,  you  know.  You  don't  want  to  be  rough  with 
mint.  Just  twist  it  gently  between  the  thumb  and 
finger.  Then  you  set  it  in  nicely  around  the  edge  of 
the  glass.  Sometimes  just  a  little  powder  of  fine  sugar 
around  on  top  of  the  mint  leaves,  and  then — " 

' '  Sir, ' '  said  Colonel  Blount,  gravely  rising  and  tak- 
ing off  his  hat,  ''you  are  welcome  to  my  home!" 

Eddring,  with  equal  courtesy,  arose  and  removed 
his  own  hat. 

"For  my  part,"  resumed  Blount,  judicially,  "I 
rather  lean  to  a  piece  of  cut  glass,  for  the  green 
and  the  crystal  look  mighty  fine  together.  I  don't 
always  make  them  with  any  sugar  on  top  of  the 
mint.  But,  you  know,  just  a  circle  of  mint— not 
crushed— not  crushed,  mind  you — just  a  green  ring 
of  fragrance,  so  that  you  can  bury  your  nose  in  it  and 
forget  your  troubles.  Sir,  allow  me  once  more  to  shake 
your  hand.  I  think  I  know  a  gentleman  when  I  see 
one." 

Oddly  enough,  this  pleasant  speech  seemed  to  bring 
a  shade  of  sadness  to  Eddring 's  face.  "A  gentle- 
man?" said  he,  smiling  slightly.  "Well,  don't  shake 
hands  with  me  yet,  sir.  I  don't  know.  You  see,  I'm 
a  railroad  man,  and  I'm  here  on  business." 

"Damn  it,  sir,  if  it  was  only  your  description  of  a 
julep,  if  it  was  only  your  mention  of  that  old  family 


A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  51 

silver  mug,  devoted  to  that  sacred  purpose,  sir,  that 
would  be  your  certificate  of  character  here.  Forget 
your  business.  Come  down  here  and  live  with  me. 
We'll  go  hunting  b'ah  together.  Why,  man,  I'm 
mighty  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance." 

"But  wait,"  said  Eddring,  "there  may  be  two  ways 
of  looking  at  this." 

"Well,  there's  only  one  way  of  looking  at  a  julep," 
said  Blount,  "and  that's  down  the  mint.  Now,  I'll 
show  you  how  we  make  them  down  here  in  the  Sun- 
flower country." 

"But,  as  I  was  a-saying — "  and  here  Blount  set 
down  the  glasses  midway  in  his  compounding,  and 
went  on  with  his  interrupted  proposition;  "now  here 
was  that  nigger  that  lost  his  wife.  Of  course  he  had 
a  whole  flock  of  children.  Now,  what  do  you  think 
that  claim  agent  said  he  would  pay  that  nigger  for 
his  wife?" 

"Well,  I—" 

"Well,  but  what  do  you  reckon?" 

"Why,  I  reckon  about  fifteen  dollars." 

"That's  it,  that's  it!"  said  Blount,  slapping  his 
hand  upon  the  board  until  the  glasses  jingled.  "That's 
just  what  he  did  offer ;  fifteen  dollars !  Not  a  damned 
cent  more." 

"Well,  now,  Colonel  Blount,"  said  Eddring,  "you 


52  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

know  there's  a  heap  of  mighty  trifling  niggers  loose 
in  this  part  of  the  world.  You  see,  that  fellow  would 
marry  again  in  a  little  while,  and  he  might  get  a  heap 
better  woman  next  time.  There's  a  lot  of  swapping 
wives  among  these  niggers  at  best.  Now,  here's  a 
man  lost  his  wife  decent  and  respectable,  and  there's 
nothing  on  earth  a  nigger  likes  better  than  a  good 
funeral,  even  if  it  has  to  be  his  own  wife.  Now,  how 
many  nigger  funerals  are  there  that  cost  fifteen  dol- 
lars? I'll  bet  you  if  that  nigger  had  it  to  do  over 
again  he'd  a  heap  rather  be  rid  of  her  and  have  the 
fifteen  dollars.  Look  at  it !  Fine  funeral  for  one  wife 
and  something  left  over  to  get  a  bonnet  for  his  new 
wife.  I'll  bet  there  isn't  a  nigger  on  your  place  that 
wouldn't  jump  at  a  chance  like  that." 

Colonel  Blount  scratched  his  head.  "You  under- 
stand niggers  all  right,  I'll  admit,"  said  he.  "But, 
now,  supposing  it  had  been  a  white  man?" 

"Well,  supposing  it  was?" 

"We  don't  need  to  suppose.  There  was  the  same 
thing  happened  to  a  white  family.  Wife  got  killed— 
left  three  children." 

' '  Oh,  you  mean  that  accident  down  at  Shelby  ? ' ' 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Something-or-other,  she  was.  Well, 
sir,  damn  me,  if  that  infernal  claim  agent  didn't  have 
the  face  to  offer  fifteen  dollars  for  her,  too ! ' ' 


A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  53 

"Looks  almost  like  he  played  a  fifteen  dollar  limit 
all  the  time,  doesn't  it?"  said  Eddring. 

' '  It  certainly  does.    It  ain  't  right. ' ' 

"Well,  now,  I  heard  about  that  woman.  She  was 
a  tall,  thin  creature,  with  no  liver  left  at  all,  and  her 
chills  came  three  times  a  week.  She  wouldn't  work; 
she  was  red-headed  and  had  only  one  straight  eye; 
and  as  for  a  tongue — well,  I  only  hope,  Colonel 
Blount,  that  you  and  I  will  never  have  a  chance  to 
meet  anything  like  that.  Of  course,  I  know  she  was 
killed.  Her  husband  just  hated  her  before  she  died, 
but  blame  me,  just  as  soon  as  she  was  dead,  he  loved 
her  more  than  if  she  was  his  sweetheart  all  over  again. 
Now,  that's  how  it  goes.  Say,  I  want  to  tell  you, 
Colonel  Blount,  this  road  is  plumb  beneficent,  if  only 
for  the  fact  that  it  develops  human  affection  in  such 
a  way  as  this.  Fifteen  dollars !  Why,  I  tell  you,  sir, 
fifteen  dollars  was  more  than  enough  for  that 
woman!"  He  turned  indignantly  on  the  board-pile. 

"I  reckon,"  said  Colonel  Blount,  "that  you  would 
say  that  about  my  neighbor  Jim  Bowies'  cow?" 

"Certainly.  I  know  about  that  cow,  too.  She  was 
twenty  years  old  and  on  her  last  legs.  Road  kills 
her,  and  all  at  once  she  becomes  a  dream  of  heifer 
loveliness.  I  know." 

' '  I  reckon, ' '  said  Colonel  Blount,  still  more  grimly, 


54  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"I  reckon  if  that  damned  claim  agent  was  to  come  here, 
he  would  just  about  say  that  fifteen  dollars  was  enough 
for  my  filly. ' ' 

"I  shouldn't  wonder.  Now,  look  here,  Colonel 
Blount.  You  see,  I'm  a  railroad  man,  and  I'm  able 
to  see  the  other  side  of  these  things.  We  come  down 
here  with  our  railroad.  We  develop  your  country. 
We  give  you  a  market  and  we  put  two  cents  a  pound 
on  top  of  your  cotton  price.  We  fix  it  so  that  you 
can  market  your  cotton  at  five  dollars  a  bale  cheaper 
than  you  used  to.  We  double  and  treble  the  price  of 
every  acre  of  land  within  thirty  miles  of  this  road. 
And  yet,  if  we  kill  a  chance  cow,  we  are  held  up  for 
it.  The  sentiment  against  this  road  is  something 
awful." 

"Oh,  well,  all  right,"  said  Blount,  "but  that  don't 
bring  my  filly  back.  You  can 't  get  Himyah  blood  every 
day  in  the  week.  That  filly  would  have  seen  Churchill 
Downs  in  her  day,  if  she  had  lived." 

"Yes;  and  if  she  had,  you  would  have  had  to  back 
her,  wouldn't  you?  You  would  have  trained  that 
filly  and  paid  a  couple  of  hundred  for  it.  You  would 
have  fitted  her  at  the  track  and  paid  several  hundred 
more.  You  would  have  bet  a  couple  of  thousand,  any- 
way, as  a  matter  of  principle,  and,  like  enough,  you'd 
have  lost  it.  Now,  if  this  road  paid  you  fifteen  dollars 


A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  55 

for  that  filly  and  saved  you  twenty-five  hundred  or 
three  thousand  into  the  bargain,  how  ought  you  to 
feel  about  it?  Are  you  twenty-five  hundred  behind, 
or  fifteen  ahead  ? ' ' 

Colonel  Calvin  Blount  had  now  feverishly  finished 
his  julep,  and  as  the  other  stopped,  he  placed  his  glass 
beside  him  on  the  board-pile  and  swung  a  long  leg 
across  so  that  he  sat  directly  facing  his  enigmatical 
guest.  The  latter,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his  argument, 
swung  into  a  similar  position,  and  so  they  sat,  both 
hammering  on  the  board  between  them. 

"Well,  I  would  like  to  see  that  damned  claim  agent 
offer  me  fifteen  dollars  for  that  filly,"  said  Blount. 
"I  might  take  fifty,  for  the  sake  of  the  road;  but 
fifteen — why,  you  see,  it 's  not  the  money ;  I  don 't  care 
fifteen  cents  for  the  fifteen  dollars,  but  it's  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  thing.  T'aint  right." 

' '  Well,  what  would  you  do  ? " 

"Well,  by  God,  sir,  if  I  saw  that  claim  agent — " 

"Well,  by  God,  sir,  I'm  that  claim  agent;  and  I  do 
offer  you  fifteen  dollars  for  that  filly,  right  now!" 

"What!    You—" 

"Yes,  me!" 

"Fifteen  dollars!" 

"Yes,  sir,  fifteen  dollars." 


56  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Colonel  Blount  burst  into  a  sudden  song — "On 
«7or-dan's  strand  I'll  take  my  stand!"  he  began. 

"It's  all  she's  worth,"  interrupted  the  claim 
agent. 

Blount  fairly  gasped.  "Do  you  mean  to  tell  me," 
said  he,  in  forced  calm,  "that  you  are  this  claim 
agent?" 

' ' I  have  told  you.  That's  the  way  I  make  my  living. 
That's  my  duty." 

"Your  duty  to  give  me  fifteen  dollars  for  a  Himyah 
filly?" 

"I  said  fifteen." 

"And  I  said  fifty." 

"You  don't  get  it." 

"I  don't,  eh?  Say,  my  friend," — Blount  pushed 
the  glasses  away,  his  choler  rising  at  the  temerity  of 
this,  the  only  man  who  in  many  a  year  had  dared  to 
confront  him.  "You  look  here.  White  me  a  check 
for  fifty;  and  write  it  now." 

"I've  heard  about  that  filly,"  said  the  claim  agent, 
"and  I've  come  here  ready  to  pay  you  for  it.  Here 
you  are." 

Blount  glanced  at  the  check.  "Why,  it's  fifteen 
dollars,"  said  he,  "and  I  said  fifty." 

"But  I  said  fifteen." 

"Look  here,"  said  Blount,  his  calm  becoming  still 


A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  57 

more  menacing,  as  with  a  sudden  whip  of  his  hand 
he  reached  behind  him.  Like  a  flash  he  pulled  a  long 
revolver  from  its  holster.  Eddring  gazed  into  the 
round  aperture  of  the  muzzle  and  certain  surround- 
ing apertures  of  the  cylinder.  "Write  me  a  check," 
said  Blount,  slowly,  ''and  write  it  for  fifty.  I'll  tear 
it  up  when  I  get  it  if  I  feel  like  it,  but  no  man  shall 
ever  tell  me  that  I  took  fifteen  dollars  for  a  Himyah 
filly.  Now  you  write  it." 

He  spoke  slowly.  His  pistol  hand  rested  on  his 
knee,  now  suddenly  drawn  up.  Both  voice  and  pistol 
barrel  were  steady. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  met,  and  which  was  the  braver 
man  it  had  been  hard  to  tell.  Neither  flinched.  Ed- 
dring returned  a  gaze  as  direct  as  that  which  he  re- 
ceived. The  florid  face  back  of  the  barrel  held  a  gleam 
of  half -admiration  at  witnessing  his  deliberation.  The 
claim  agent's  eye  did  not  falter. 

"You  said  fifty  dollars,  Colonel  Blount,"  said  he, 
just  a  suggestion  of  a  smile  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth. 
"Don't  you  think  there  has  been  a  slight  misunder- 
standing between  us  two  ?  If  you  are  so  blamed  par- 
ticular, and  really  want  a  check  for  fifty,  why,  here  it 
is."  He  busied  himself  a  moment,  and  passed  over 
a  strip  of  paper.  Even  as  he  did  so,  the  ire  of  Colonel 
Blount  cooled  as  suddenly  as  it  had  gained  warmth.  A 


58  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

sudden  contrition  sat  on  his  face,  and  he  crowded  the 
paper  into  his  pocket  with  an  air  half  shamefaced. 

"Sir — Mr.  Eddring,"  he  began  falteringly. 

' '  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  You  've  got  your  check, 
and  you've  got  the  railroad.  We've  paid  our  little 
debt  to  you." 

"Sir, "said  Blount.  "My  friend— why,  sir,  here  is 
your  julep." 

"To  hell  with  your  julep,  sir!" 

"My  friend,"  said  Blount,  flushing,  "you  serve 
me  right.  I  am  forgetting  my  duties  as  a  gentleman. 
I  ask  you  into  my  house." 

"I'll  see  you  damned  first,"  said  Eddring,  hotly. 

' '  Eight ! ' '  cried  Blount,  exultingly.  ' '  You  're  right. 
You're  one  of  the  fighting  Eddrings,  just  like  your 
daddy  and  your  uncle,  sure  as  you're  born!  Why, 
sir,  come  on  in.  You  wouldn't  punish  the  son  of  your 
uncle's  friend,  your  own  daddy's  friend,  would 
you?" 

But  the  ire  of  Eddring  was  now  aroused.  A  certain 
smoldering  fire,  long  with  difficulty  suppressed,  be- 
gan to  flame  in  spite  of  him. 

"Bring  me  out  a  plate,"  said  he,  bitterly,  "and  let 
me  eat  on  the  gallery.  As  you  say,  I  am  only  a  claim 
agent.  Good  God,  man!"  and  then  of  a  sudden  his 
wrath  arose  still  higher.  His  own  hand  made  a  swift 


EUDRI.NG  GAZED  INTO  THE  ROUND  APERTURE  OK  THE  MUZZLE."  /.    57 


A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  59 

motion.  "Give  me  back  that  check,"  he  said,  and  his 
extended  hand  presented  a  weapon  held  steady  as 
though  supported  by  the  limb  of  a  tree.  "You  didn't 
give  me  a  fair  show." 

"Well,  by  the  eternal!"  half  whispered  Colonel 
Calvin  Blount  to  himself.  "Ain't  he  a  fighting 
chicken?" 

"Give  it  to  me,"  demanded  Eddring;  and  the  other, 
astounded,  humbled,  reached  into  his  pocket. 

"I  will  give  it  to  you,  boy,"  said  he,  soberly,  "and 
twenty  like  it,  if  you'll  forget  all  this  and  come  into 
my  house.  I'm  mighty  sorry.  I  don't  want  the 
money.  You  know  that.  I  want  you.  Come  on  in, 
man."  He  handed  back  the  slip  of  paper.  "Come  on 
in,"  he  repeated. 

"I  will  not,  sir,"  said  Eddring.  "This  was  busi- 
ness, and  you  made  it  personal." 

"Oh,  business!"  said  Blount. 

' '  Sir, ' '  said  John  Eddring,  ' '  the  world  never  under- 
stands when  a  man  has  to  choose  between  being  a 
business  man  and  a  gentleman.  It  does  not  always 
come  to  just  that,  but  you  see,  a  man  has  to  do  what 
he  is  paid  to  do.  Can't  you  see  it  is  a  matter  of  duty? 
I  can't  afford  to  be  a  gentleman—" 

"And  you  are  so  much  one,  my  son,"  said  Calvin 
Blount,  grimly,  "that  you  won't  do  anything  but 


60  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

what  you  know  is  right.  My  friend,  I  won't  ask  you 
in  again,  not  any  more,  right  now.  But  when  you  can, 
come  again,  sir,  some  day.  When  you  can  come  right 
easy  and  pleasant,  my  son,  why,  you  know  I  want 
you." 

John  Eddring's  hard-set  jaw  relaxed,  trembled,  and 
he  dared  not  commit  himself  to  speech.  With  a 
straight  look  into  Colonel  Blount's  eyes,  he  turned 
away,  and  passed  on  down  the  path,  Blount  looking 
after  him  more  than  half -yearningly. 

So  intent,  indeed,  was  the  latter  in  his  gaze  upon 
the  receding  figure  that  he  did  not  hear  the  swift  rush 
of  light  feet  on  the  gallery,  nor  turn  until  Miss  Lady 
stood  before  him.  The  girl  swept  him  a  deep  courtesy, 
spreading  out  the  skirt  of  her  biscuit-colored  gown  in 
mocking  deference  of  posture. 

"Please,  Colonel  Cal,"  said  she,  "since  he  can't 
hear  the  dinner  bell,  would  he  be  good  enough  to 
tell  whether  or  not  he  will  come  in  and  eat?  Every- 
thing is  growing  cold;  and  I  made  the  biscuits." 

Calvin  Blount  put  out  his  hand,  and  a  softer  shade 
came  upon  his  face.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Miss  Lady,  is 
it?"  said  he.  "Yes,  I'm  back  home  again.  And  you 
made  the  biscuits,  eh?" 

"You  are  back  home,"  said  Miss  Lady,  "all  but 
your  mind.  I  called  to  you  several  times.  Who  is 


A  QUESTION  OF  VALUATION  61 

that  gentleman  you  are  staring  at?    Why  doesn't  he 
come  in  and  eat  with  us  ? " 

Colonel  Blount  turned  slowly  as  Miss  Lady  tugged 
at  his  arm.  "Who  is  he?"  he  replied  half-musingly. 
"Who  is  he  ?  You  tell  me.  He  refused  to  eat  in  Cal- 
vin Blount 's  house ;  that's  why  he  didn't  come  in,  Miss 
Lady.  He  says  he's  the  cow  coroner  on  the  Y.  V. 
road,  but  I  want  to  tell  you,  he's  the  finest  fellow, 
and  the  nearest  to  a  gentleman,  that  ever  struck  this 
country.  That's  what  he  is.  I'm  mighty  troubled 
over  his  going  away,  Miss  Lady,  mighty  troubled." 
And  indeed  his  face  gave  warrant  to  these  words,  as 
with  slow  footsteps  and  frowning  brow,  he  yielded 
to  the  pressure  of  the  light  hand  on  his  arm,  and 
turned  toward  the  gallery  steps. 


CHAPTER  V 

CERTAIN  PROBLEMS 

After  his  midday  meal,  Colonel  Calvin  Blount,  wan- 
dering aimlessly  and  none  too  well  content  about  the 
yard,  came  across  one  of  his  servants,  who  was  in  the 
act  of  unrolling  the  fresh  bear  hide  and  spreading  it 
out  to  dry.  He  kicked  idly  at  a  fold  in  the  hide. 

"Look  here,  Jim,"  he  said  suddenly,  "Mr  Decherd 
killed  this  b'ah,  didn't  he?" 

"Yassah,"  said  Jim. 

"And  he  shoots  a  rifle;  and  here  are  three  holes- 
buckshot  holes— in  the  hide.  And  you  had  a  gun 
loaded  with  buckshot.  Did  you  lend  it  to  Mr.  De- 
cherd?" 

"No,  sah,"  said  Jim,  turning  his  head  away. 

"Look  here,  boy,"  said  Blount.  "There  is  no  liar, 
black  or  white,  can  go  out  with  my  dogs ;  because  my 
dogs  don't  lie  and  I  don't.  Now,  tell  me  about  this." 

"Well,  Gunnel,"  said  the  boy,  half  ready  to  blub- 
ber, "the  b'ah  was  faihly  a-chawin'  ol'  Fly  up.  He 
wus  right  at  me,  an'  I  ran  up  close  so's  not  to  hurt 
ol'  Fly,  and  I  done  shot  him." 

62 


CERTAIN  PROBLEMS  63 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Colonel  Blount.  "How 
about  the  rest?" 

"Well,  sah,  I  had  the  b'ah  mos'  skinned,  when  up 
comes  Mr.  'Cherd.  'That's  my  b'ah,'  said  he.  'Co'se 
it  is, '  says  I.  Then  he  'lowed  he  'd  give  me  two  dol- 
lahs  ef  I  said  he  was  de  man  dat  killed  de  b  'ah. ' ' 

Blount  stared  reflectively  at  a  knot-hole  in  the  side 
of  the  barn. 

"Jim,"  said  he,  at  length,  "give  me  the  two  dol- 
lars. I'll  take  care  of  that."  So  saying,  he  swung 
on  his  heel  and  turned  away. 

The  day  was  now  far  advanced,  and  the  great  white 
house  had  grown  silent.  As  Blount  entered,  he  met 
no  one  at  first,  but  finally  at  the  door  of  a  half-dark- 
ened room  midway  of  the  hall,  he  heard  the  rustle  of 
a  gown  and  saw  approaching  him  the  not  uncomely 
figure  of  the  quasi-head  of  the  menage,  Mrs.  Ellison. 
The  latter  moved  slowly  and  easily  forward,  pausing 
at  the  doorway,  where,  so  framed,  she  presented  a  pic- 
ture attractive  enough  to  arrest  the  attention  of  even  a 
bear-hunting  bachelor. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  back,  Colonel,"  said  she.  "I 
am  always  so  uneasy  when  you  are  away ; ' '  she  sighed. 

Blount  felt  himself  vaguely  uncomfortable,  but  was 
not  quite  able  to  turn  away. 


64  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

' '  I  was  just  in  my  room, ' '  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  "  as  I 
heard  you  passing  by.  I  had  a  little  headache. ' ' 

"That's  too  bad,"  said  Colonel  Blount,  and  turned 
again  to  go.  The  unspoken  invitation  of  the  other  still 
restrained  him.  She  leaned  against  the  door,  soft-eyed, 
her  white  hand  waving  an  effective  fan,  an  attractive, 
a  seductive  picture. 

"Why  don't  you  ever  come  in  and  sit  down  and 
talk  to  me  for  a  minute?"  said  she,  at  length.  "I 
scarcely  see  you  at  all  any  more." 

Blount  gathered  an  uneasy  hint  of  something,  he 
knew  not  what ;  yet  he  followed  her  back  into  the  half- 
darkened  room,  and  presently,  seated  near  her,  and 
wrapped  in  his  own  enthusiasms,  forgot  all  but  the 
bear  chase,  whose  incidents  he  began  eagerly  to  relate. 
His  vis-a-vis  sat  looking  at  him  with  eyes  which  took 
in  fully  the  careless  strength  of  his  tall  and  strong 
figure.  For  some  time  now  her  eyes  had  rested  on  this 
same  figure,  this  man  who  had  to  do  with  work  and 
the  chase,  with  hardship  and  adventure,  and  never 
anything  more  gentle— this  man  who  could  not  see ! 

"You  must  be  more  careful,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison. 
' c  But  still,  you  are  safely  back,  and  I  'm  glad  you  had 
good  luck." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what  you  would  call  good 


CERTAIN  PROBLEMS  65 

luck,"  said  Blount.  "The  fact  is,  I  had  a  little 
trouble,  coming  in." 

' '  Trouble  ?    In  what  way  ? ' ' 

"Well,  it  happened  this  way,"  said  he,  with  a  quick 
glance  about  him.  "I  don't  like  to  mention  such 
things,  but  I  suppose  you  ought  to  know.  This  was 
about  a  couple  of  negroes  back  in  the  country  a  way. 
You  know,  I  am  a  sort  of  deputy  sheriff,  and  I  was 
called  on  to  do  a  little  work  with  those  same  negroes. 
I  suppose  you  know,  ma'am,  that  those  negroes  used 
to  run  this  whole  state  a  few  years  ago,  though  they 
ain't  studying  so  much  about  politics  to-day." 

"I  know  something  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison. 
' '  That  was  soon  after  the  war,  they  tell  me.  But  they 
gave  that  up  long  ago.  They  don't  bother  with  poli- 
tics now." 

"No,"  resumed  Blount.  "They're  not  studying  so 
much  as  they  used  to.  Not  long  ago  I  had  a  number 
of  northern  philanthropists  down  here,  who  came 
down  to  look  into  the  'conditions  in  this  district.' 
I  said  I'd  show  them  everything  they  wanted;  so  I 
sent  out  for  some  of  my  field  hands.  I  said  to  one  of 
them,  'Bill,'  said  I,  'these  gentlemen  want  to  ask  you 
some  questions.  I  suppose  your  name  is  William 
Henry  Arnold,  isn't  it?'  'Yassah,'  said  Bill.  'You 
was  county  supervisor  here  some  years  ago,  wasn't 


66  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

you,  Bill?'  'Yassah,'  said  Bill.  I  said,  'I  beg  your 
pardon,  Mr.  William  Henry  Arnold,  but  will  you 
please  step  up  here  to  my  desk  and  write  your  name 
for  these  gentlemen?'  'Why,  sho'!  boss/  said  he, 
'you  know  I  kain't  write  mah  name.'  'That's  all,' 
said  I. 

"  'Now,  gentlemen,'  said  I,  'exhibit  number  two 
is  Mr.  George  Washington  Sims.  'George,'  said  I, 
'you  used  to  be  our  county  treasurer,  didn't  you?'  He 
said  he  did.  '  Who  paid  the  taxes,  then,  George  ? '  said 
I.  'Why,  boss,  you  white  folks  paid  most  of  'urn.' 
'All  right,  Mr.  George  Washington  Sims,'  said  I,  'you 
step  up  here  and  write  your  name  for  these  gentle- 
men.' He  just  laughed.  'That'll  do,'  said  I. 

"  'Exhibit  number  three,'  said  I  to  these  northern 
philanthropists,  'is  our  late  distinguished  fellow  citi- 
zen, Abednego  Shadrach  Jones.  He  was  our  county 
clerk  down  here  a  while  back.  'Nego,  who  paid  the 
taxes,  time  you  was  clerk?'  He  was  right  uncom- 
fortable. 'Why,  boss,'  said  he,  'you  paid  most  of 
'um,  you  an'  the  white  folks  in  heah.  No  niggah 
man  had  nothin'  to  pay  taxes  on.' 

"  'You  know  that  we  white  folks  had  to  pay  for  the 
schools  and  bridges,  and  the  county  buildings— had  to 
pay  salaries— had  to  pay  the  county  clerk  and  the  jan- 


CERTAIN  PROBLEMS  67 

itor— had  to  pay  everything  ? '  I  said  to  him.  '  Yassah, ' 
said  Nego. 

"  'You  were  elected  legally,  and  we  white  folks 
couldn't  out- vote  you,  nohow?'  'Yassah,'  said  he.  'I 
s'pose  we  wus  all  'lected  legal  'nough.  I  dunno 
rightly,  but  dey  all  done  tol'  me  dat  wuz  so.' 

"  'Nego,'  said  I,  'step  up  here  to  your  boss'  desk 
and  write  your  name,  just  like  you  do  when  I  give 
you  credit  for  a  bale  of  cotton.'  Nego  he  steps  up 
and  he  makes  a  mark,  and  a  mighty  poor  mark  at 
that.  'You  can  go,'  I  said  to  him. 

"  'Now,  gentlemen,'  said  I  to  them,  'do  you  want 
exhibits  number  four  and  five  and  six?'  And  they 
allowed  they  didn't. 

' '  There  was  one  fellow  in  the  lot  who  stepped  up  to 
me  and  took  my  hand.  He  was  a  Federal  colonel  in 
the  war,  but  he  said  to  me,  'Colonel  Blount,  I  beg 
your  pardon.  You  have  made  this  plainer  to  me  than 
I  ever  saw  it  before.  It  would  be  the  ruin  of  this 
country  if  you  gave  over  the  control  of  your  homes 
and  property  and  let  them  be  run  by  people  like  these. 
You  have  solved  this  problem  for  yourselves,  and  you 
ought  to  be  left  to  solve  it  all  the  time.  As  for  us 
folks  from  the  North,  we  are  a  lot  of  ignorant  med- 
dlers ;  and  as  for  me,  I  'm  going  home. '  ' 

Blount  fell  silent,  musing  for  a  time.  "Some  folks 


68  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

say,  'Educate  the  negro,'  "  he  resumed  finally,  "they 
say  'Uplift  him.'  They  say  'Give  him  a  chance.'  So 
do  I.  I  will  give  him  more  than  a  chance.  I  will  let 
the  negroes  do  all  they  can  to  help  themselves,  and  I  '11 
do  the  balance  myself.  But  they  can't  rule  me,  until 
they  are  better  than  I  am;  and  that's  going  to  be  a 
long  while  yet.  Constitution  or  no  constitution,  gov- 
ernment or  no  government,  the  black  rule  can't  and 
don't  go  in  the  Delta!  It  wouldn't  be  right. 

"Now,  I'll  tell  you  about  those  two  poor  fellows 
to-day,"  he  continued.  "There  was  Tom  Sands,  who 
works  on  a  plantation  about  twelve  miles  from  here. 
He  has  been  getting  drunk  and  beating  his  wife  and 
scaring  his  children  for  about  three  months.  Judge 
Williams  had  him  up  not  long  ago  and  bound  him 
over  to  keep  the  peace,  and  when  I  last  saw  the  judge 
he  told  me  to  take  this  negro  up,  if  I  was  going  by 
there  any  time,  and  bring  him  up  and  put  him  in  jail 
for  a  while,  until  he  got  to  behaving  himself  again. 
You  know  we  have  to  do  these  things  right  along,  to 
keep  this  country  quiet. 

"Well,  when  we  were  coming  in  from  the  hunt,  we 
passed  within  a  few  miles  of  his  cotton  patch,  and  I 
rode  over  to  see  him.  He  was  out  in  the  field,  and  I 
found  him  and  told  him  he  had  to  come  along.  He 
refused  to  come.  He  swore  at  me— and  he  was  not 


CERTAIN  PROBLEMS  69 

even  a  county  surveyor  in  the  old  days!  Then  I 
ordered  him  in  the  name  of  the  law  to  come  along.  He 
picked  up  a  piece  of  fence  rail  and  started  at  me.  I 
had  to  get  down  off  my  horse  to  meet  him.  I  own  I 
struck  him  right  hard.  There  was  another  boy,  a  big 
black  negro,  that  must  have  come  in  here  lately  from 
some  other  part  of  the  country,  a  big,  stoop-shouldered 
fellow — well,  he  started  for  me,  too.  I  took  up  the  same 
piece  of  fence  rail  and  knocked  him  down. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  told  you  this,  ma'am,"  said 
Blount,  rising.  "But  then,  maybe  it's  just  as  well 
that  I  did.  You  never  can  tell  what  will  come  out  of 
these  things.  We  live  over  a  black  volcano  in  this 
country  all  the  time.  Now,  I  didn't  bring  in  either 
one  of  my  prisoners.  I  hoped  that  maybe  they  would 
take  this  fence  rail  argument  as  a  sort  of  temporary 
equivalent  to  a  term  in  jail.  But  to-morrow  I  'm  going 
down  in  there  and  bring  that  Sands  boy  in.  "We  never 
dare  give  an  inch  in  a  matter  of  this  kind. ' ' 

"Do  you  think  they  will  make  any  trouble?"  said 
Mrs.  Ellison. 

"Never  you  mind  about  the  trouble  part  of  it," 
said  Blount,  quietly.  "I  reckon  he'll  come  in.  I'm 
going  to  take  a  wagon  this  time.  So  that's  the  kind 
of  luck  we  had  on  this  b'ah  hunt." 

He  arose  to  go,  and  left  Mrs.  Ellison  sitting  still 


70 

in  the  shaded  room,  her  fan  now  at  rest,  her  eyes  bent 
down  thoughtfully,  but  her  foot  tapping  at  the  floor. 
The  incidents  just  related  passed  quickly  from  her 
mind.  She  remembered  only  that,  as  they  talked,  this 
man's  eye  had  wandered  from  her  own.  He  was  occu- 
pied with  problems  of  politics,  of  business,  of  sport, 
and  was  letting  go  that  great  game  for  a  strong  man, 
the  game  of  love!  She  could  scarce  tell  at  the  mo- 
ment whether  she  most  felt  for  him  contempt  or 
hatred — or  something  far  different  from  either. 

At  length  she  arose  and  paced  the  room,  swiftly  as 
the  press  of  strange  events  which  were  hurrying  her 
along.  Indeed,  she  might,  without  any  great  shrewd- 
ness, have  found  warning  in  certain  things  happen- 
ing of  late  in  and  around  the  Big  House;  but  Alice 
Ellison  ever  most  loved  her  own  fancy  as  counsel. 
The  blacks  might  rise  if  they  liked ;  Miss  Lady  might 
do  as  she  listed,  after  all.  Delphine  and  young 
Decherd  might  go  their  several  ways ;  but  as  for  her, 
and  as  for  this  man  Calvin  Blount — ah,  well ! 

She  yawned  and  stretched  out  her  arms,  feline, 
easy,  graceful,  and  so  at  length  sank  into  her  easy 
chair,  half  purring  as  she  shifted  now  and  again  to 
a  more  comfortable  position. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  DRUM 

John  Eddring,  the  heat  of  his  late  encounter  past, 
sat  moodily  staring  out  from  the  platform  of  the  little 
station  to  which  he  had  returned.  He  was  angry 
with  all  the  world,  and  angry  with  himself  most 
of  all.  It  had  been  his  duty  to  deal  amicably  with  a 
man  of  the  position  of  Colonel  Calvin  Blount,  yet  how 
had  he  comported  himself  ?  Like  a  school-boy !  But 
for  that  he  might  have  been  the  accepted  guest  now, 
there  at  the  Big  House,  instead  of  being  the  only  man 
ever  known  to  turn  back  upon  its  door.  But  for  his 
sudden  choler,  he  reflected,  he  might  perhaps  at  this 
very  moment  be  within  seeing  and  speaking  distance 
of  this  tall  girl  of  the  scarlet  ribbons,  the  very  same 
whose  presence  he  had  vaguely  felt  about  the  place  all 
that  morning,  in  the  occasional  sound  of  a  distant 
song,  or  the  rush  of  feet  upon  the  gallery,  or  the  whisk 
of  skirts  frequently  heard.  The  memory  of  that  pic- 
ture clung  fast  and  would  not  vanish.  She  was  so 
yery  beautiful,  he  reflected.  It  had  been  pleasanter 

71 


72  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

to  sit  at  table  in  such  company  than  thus  here  alone, 
hungry,  like  an  outcast. 

He  felt  his  gaze,  like  that  of  a  love-sick  boy,  turn- 
ing again  and  again  toward  the  spot  where  he  had 
seen  her  last.  The  realization  of  this  angered  him. 
He  rebuked  himself  sternly,  as  having  been  unworthy 
of  himself,  as  having  been  light,  as  having  been  un- 
manly, in  thus  allowing  himself  to  be  influenced  by  a 
mere  irrational  fancy.  He  summoned  his  strength  to 
banish  this  chimera,  and  then  with  sudden  horror 
which  sent  his  brow  half-moist,  he  realized  that  his 
faculties  did  not  obey,  that  he  was  thinking  of  the 
same  picture,  that  his  eyes  were  still  coveting  it,  his 
heart — ah,  could  there  be  truth  in  these  stories  of 
sudden  and  uncontrollable  impulses  of  the  heart? 
The  very  whisper  of  it  gave  him  terror.  His  brow 
grew  moister.  For  him,  John  Eddring — what  could 
the  world  hold  for  him  but  this  one  thing  of  duty  ? 

Duty!  He  laughed  at  the  thought.  These  two 
iron  bands  before  his  eyes  irked  his  soul,  binding  him, 
as  they  did,  hard  and  fast  to  another  world  full  of 
unwelcome  things.  There  came  again  and  again  to  his 
mind  this  picture  of  the  maid  with  the  bright  rib- 
bons. He  gazed  at  the  distant  spot  beneath  the  ever- 
greens where  he  had  seen  her.  He  could  picture  so 
distinctly  her  high-headed  carriage,  the  straight  gaze 


THE  DRUM  73 

of  her  eyes,  the  glow  on  her  cheeks;  could  restore  so 
clearly  the  very  sweep  of  the  dark  hair  tumbled  about 
her  brow.  Smitten  of  this  sight,  he  would  fain  have 
had  view  again.  Alas !  it  was  as  when,  upon  a  crowd- 
ed street,  one  gazes  at  the  passing  figure  of  him  whose 
presence  smites  with  the  swift  call  of  friendship — and 
turns,  only  to  see  this  unknown  friend  swallowed  up 
in  the  crowd  for  ever.  Thus  had  passed  the  view  of 
this  young  girl  of  the  Big  House ;  and  there  remained 
no  sort  of  footing  upon  which  he  could  base  a  hope  of 
a  better  fortune.  Henceforth  he  must  count  himself 
apart  from  all  Big  House  affairs.  He  was  an  outcast, 
a  pariah.  Disgusted,  he  rose  from  his  rude  seat  at 
the  window  ledge  and  walked  up  the  platform.  He 
found  it  too  sunny,  and  returned  to  take  a  seat  again 
upon  a  broken  truck  near  by. 

There  was  a  little  country  store  close  to  the  plat- 
form, so  built  that  it  almost  adjoined  the  ware-room 
of  the  railway  station;  this  being  the  place  where 
the  colored  folk  of  the  neighborhood  purchased  their 
supplies.  At  the  present  moment,  this  building 
seemed  to  lack  much  of  its  usual  occupancy,  yet  there 
arose,  now  and  again,  sounds  of  low  conversation  part- 
ly audible  through  the  open  window.  The  voices  were 
those  of  negroes,  and  they  spoke  guardedly,  but 
eagerly,  with  some  peculiar  quality  in  their  speech 


74 

which  caught  the  sixth  sense  of  the  Southerner,  accus- 
tomed always  to  living  upon  the  verge  of  a  certain 
danger.  The  fact  that  they  were  speaking  thus  in 
so  public  a  place,  and  at  the  mid-hour  of  the  working 
day,  was  of  itself  enough  to  attract  the  attention  of 
any  white  dweller  of  that  region. 

"I  tell  yuh,"  said  one,  "it's  gone  fah  'nough. 
Who  runs  de  f  ahms,  who  makes  de  cotton,  who  does  de 
wu'k  for  all  dis  heah  Ian'?  Who  used  to  run  de 
gov'ment,  and  who  orter  now,  if  it  ain't  us  black 
folks?  Dey  throw  us  out,  an'  dey  won't  let  us  vote, 
an'  we-all  know  we  gotter  right  to  vote.  Dey  say  a 
nigger  ain't  fitten  ter  do  nothin'  but  wu'k,  wu'k, 
wu'k.  Nigger  got  good  a  right  to  live  de  way  he  want 
ter  as  de  white  man  is.  Now  it's  time  fer  change.  De 
Queen,  you-all  knows,  she  done  say  de  time  come 
fer  a  change." 

A  low  growl,  as  from  the  throats  of  feeding  beasts, 
greeted  this  comment.  Footfalls,  shuffling,  approached 
the  speaker. 

"Tom  Sands  is  daid,  dat's  whut  he  is,"  resumed 
the  first  speaker,  "leastways  as  good  as  daid,  'cause 
he's  just  a-layin'  thah  an'  kain't  move  er  speak.  An' 
look  at  me,  look  at  my  haid.  De  oP  man  hit  him  pow'ful 
hahd,  an'  ef  he  didn't  hit  me  jest  de  same,  it  wasn't 
no  fault  o'  his'n,  I  tell  you.  He  jes'  soon  killed  bof 


THE  DRUM  75 

of  us  niggers  thali  as  not.  Whaffor?  He  want  we- 
all  to  come  inter  town  an'  git  fined,  git  into  jail 
ag'in."  More  growls  than  one  greeted  this,  and  then 
there  came  silence  for  a  while. 

"My  ol'  daddy  done  tol'  me  twenty-five  yeah  ago," 
said  the  first  speaker,  "dat  de  time  was  a-goin'  ter 
come.  Dey  wus  onct  a  white  man  f'om  up  Norf 
come  all  over  dis  country,  fifty  yeah  ago,  an'  he 
preached  it  ter  de  niggers  befo'  de  wah  dat  some 
day  de  time  gwine  come.  We  wus  ter  raise  up  all 
over  the  Souf  an'  kill  all  de  white  folks,  an'  den  all 
de  white  women — 

"We  wus  ter  kill  all  de  white  men,"  at  length  re- 
sumed the  same  voice.  "De  white  men  f'om  de  Norf 
wus  ter  ride  intoe  de  towns  den  an'  rob  all  de  banks 
an'  divide  de  money  wid  we-all,  an'  dey  wus  to  open 
de  sto's  and  give  ebery  nigger  all  de  goods  he  want 
wifout  paying  nuthin'  fer  'em;  and  den  nigger  ain't 
gwine  to  wu'k  no  mo'. 

"Dat  white  man  and  his  folks,  my  ol'  daddy  said, 
fifty  yeah  ago,  dey  wu'k  secret  all  over  the  Souf, 
from  Tenn'ssee  ter  Louisian'.  Dat  was  fifty  yeah  ago, 
but  my  ol'  daddy  say  when  he  was  a  piccaninny,  dis 
heah  thing  got  out  somehow  an'  de  white  folks  down 
Souf  dey  cotch  dis  white  man  f'om  de  Norf,  an'  done 


76  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

hang  him,  an'  dey  done  hang  and  burn  a  heap  o'  nig- 
gers all  over  de  Souf . 

"Dat  was  long  time  befo'  de  wah.  Dey  tol'  us-all 
dat  de  time  wuz  sho'  comin'  den;  but  den  de  preach- 
ers and  de  doctors  dey  tol'  us-all  it  mightn't  be  come 
den,  but  it  would  come  some  day.  Den  'long  come  de 
wah,  an'  de  preachers  an'  de  doctors  an'  de  white 
folks  up  Norf  dey  done  tol'  us,  nigger  gwine  ter  be 
free,  not  to  have  ter  wu'k  no  mo'.  Huh!  Now  look 
at  us !  "We  wu'k  jest  as  hard  as  we  ever  did,  an'  we  git 
no  mo'  fer  it  dan  whut  we  eat  an'  weah.  We  kain't 
vote.  Dey  done  robbed  us  outen  dat.  We  kain't  be 
nobody.  We  kain't  git  'long.  We  hatter  wu'k  jest 
same,  wu'k,  wu'k,  wu'k,  all  de  time.  Nigger  jest  as 
well  be  daid  as  hatter  wu'k  all  de  time— got  no  vote, 
ner  nuthin'.  Dat's  whut  de  Queen  she  done  tol'  me 
right  plain  las'  meetin'  we  had.  She  say  white  folks 
up  Norf  gwine  to  help  nigger  now,  right  erlong. 
Things  gwine  be  different  now,  right  soon." 

Murmurs,  singularly  stirring,  peculiarly  ominous, 
answered  this  extended  speech.  Encouraged,  the  ora- 
tor went  on.  "We  ain't  good  as  slaves,  we-all  ain't. 
We  wu'k  jest  ez  hahd.  Dey  gin  us  a  taste  o'  de  white 
bread,  an'  den  dey  done  snatch  it  'way  f 'om  us.  We 
want  ter  be  like  white  folks.  Up  Norf  dey  tell  us  we 
gwine  ter  be,  but  down  heah  dey  won't  let  us." 


THE  DRUM  77 

Now  suddenly  the  voice  broke  into  a  wail  and  rose 
again  in  a  half-chant.  Evidently  the  storekeeper  was 
absent,  perhaps  across  the  way  for  his  dinner.  The 
building  was  left  to  the  blacks.  Without  premedita- 
tion, those  present  had  dropped  into  one  of  those 
"meetings"  which  white  men  of  that  region  never 
encourage. 

"Dey  brung  us  heah  in  chains,  0  Lord!"  shouted 
the  orator.  ' '  Yea,  in  chains  dey  done  weigh  us  down ! 
0  Lord,  make  us  delivery.  0  Lord,  smite  down  ouah 
oppressohs. ' ' 

"Lord!  Lord!  yea,  0  Lord,  smite  down!"  re- 
sponded the  ready  chorus.  And  there  were  sobs  and 
strange  savage  gutturals  which  no  white  ear  may  ever 
fully  understand.  The  white  listener  on  the  station 
platform  understood  enough,  and  his  eager  face  grew 
tense  and  grave.  A  meeting  of  the  blacks,  thus  bold 
at  such  a  time,  meant  nothing  but  danger,  perhaps 
danger  immediate  and  most  serious. 

The  wild  chant  rose  and  fell  in  a  sudden  gust,  and 
then  the  voice  went  on.  "De  time  is  heah;  I  seen  it 
in  a  dream,  I  seen  it  in  a  vision  f 'om  de  Lord.  De 
Lord  done  tell  it  to  de  Queen,  and  done  say  ter  me, 
'Rise,  rise  and  slay  mightily.  Take  de  land  o'  de 
oppressoh,  take  his  women  away  f 'om  him  an'  lay  de 
oppressoh  in  de  dus'!  Cease  dy  labors,  Gideon,  cease 


78  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

an'  take  dy  rest!  Enter  into  de  Ian',  0  Gideon,  an* 
take  it  fob.  dyself !  O,  Lord,  give  us  de  arm  of  de 
Avengeh.  I  seen  it,  I  seen  it  on  de  sky !  I  done  seen 
it  fob  yeahs,  an'  now  I  seen  it  plain!  De  moon  have 
it  writ  on  her  face  las'  night,  de  birds  sing  it  in  de 
trees,  de  chicken  act  it  in  his  talk  dis  vehy  mawnin'. 
De  dog  he  howl  it  out  las'  night.  De  sun  he  show  it 
plain  dis  vehy  day.  De  trees  say  it,  now  weeks  an' 
weeks.  All  de  worl'  say  to  nigger  now,  jes'  like  he 
heah  it  fifty  yeah  ago,  jes'  like  he  heah  it  in  de  wah 
we  made — 'De  Time,  de  Time !'  I  heah  it  in  my  ears. 
I  kain't  heah  nuthin'  else  but  dat — 'De  Time,  de 
Time  am  heah!'  Nuthin'  but  jes'  dis  heah,  'De  Time, 
de  Time  am  heah!'  ' 

And  now  there  ensued  a  yet  stranger  thing.  There 
was  no  further  voice  of  the  orator;  but  theie  arose  a 
wild,  plaintive  sound  of  chanting,  a  song  which  none 
but  those  who  sang  it  might  have  understood.  Its  sav- 
age unison  rose  and  fell  for  just  one  bar  or  so,  and 
then  sank  to  sudden  silence.  There  came  a  quick 
shuffling  of  feet  in  separation.  The  group  fell  apart. 
The  store  was  empty !  Out  in  the  open  air,  under  the 
warm  summons  of  the  sun,  there  passed  a  merry, 
laughing  group  of  negroes,  happy,  care-free,  each 
humming  the  burden  of  some  simple  song,  each  slouch- 
ing across  the  road,  as  though  ease  and  the  warm  sun 


THE  DRUM  79 

filled  all  his  soul!  Dissimulation  and  secretiveness, 
seeded  in  savagery,  nourished  in  oppression,  in- 
grained in  the  soul  for  generations,  are  part  of  a 
nature  as  opaque  to  the  average  Caucasian  eye  as  is 
the  sable  skin  of  Africa  itself. 

They  scattered,  but  a  keen  eye  followed  them.  Ed- 
dring  saw  that  they  began  to  come  together  again  at 
different  points,  group  joining  group,  and  all  bending 
their  steps  toward  the  edge  of  the  surrounding  forest. 
Had  the  owner  of  the  Big  House,  or  any  planter  there- 
about, seen  this  gathering  at  the  midday  hour,  when 
the  people  should  have  been  at  their  work,  he  would 
assuredly  have  stopped  them  and  made  sharp  ques- 
tioning. But  at  the  moment  the  storekeeper  was  at 
home  asleep  in  his  noonday  nap ;  the  owner  of  the  Big 
House  had  problems  of  his  own,  and,  as  it  chanced, 
none  of  the  neighboring  planters  was  at  the  railroad 
station.  John  Eddring,  now  fully  alert,  looked  sharp- 
ly about  him,  then  slipped  down  from  the  railway 
platform.  He  crossed  a  little  field  by  a  faint  path, 
and  hurried  off  to  the  shadow  of  the  woods,  his  course 
paralleling  the  forest  road  as  nearly  as  might  be. 

At  half-past  three  that  afternoon,  at  a  point  five 
miles  from  the  railway  station,  there  was  enacted  a 
scene  which  might  more  properly  have  claimed  as  its 
home  a  country  far  distant  from  this.  Yet  there  was 


80  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

something  fitting  in  this  environment.  All  around 
swept  the  heavy,  solemn  forest,  its  giant  oaks  draped 
here  and  there  with  the  funereal  Spanish  moss.  A 
ghostly  sycamore,  a  mammoth  gum-tree  now  and  then 
thrust  up  a  giant  head  above  the  lesser  growth. 
Smaller  trees,  the  ash,  the  rough  hickory,  the  hack- 
berry,  the  mulberry,  and  in  the  open  glades  the  slen- 
der persimmon  and  the  stringy  southern  birches 
crowded  close  together.  Over  all  swept  the  masses  of 
thick  cane  growth,  interlaced  with  tough  vines  of 
grape  and  creeping,  thorned  briers.  It  was  the  jungle. 
This  might  have  been  Africa  itself! 

And  it  might  have  been  Africa  itself  which  pro- 
duced the  sound  that  now  broke  upon  the  ear— a  deep, 
single,  booming  note  which  caused  the  brooding  air 
of  the  ancient  wood  to  shiver  as  though  in  apprehen- 
sion. There  had  been  faint  forest  sounds  before  that 
note  broke  out :  the  small  birds  running  up  and  down 
the  tree-trunks  had  chirped  and  chattered  faintly ;  the 
squirrels  on  the  nut  trees  had  dropped  some  bits  of 
bark  which  rustled  faintly  as  they  fell  from  leaf  to 
leaf ;  a  rabbit  ambling  across  the  way  had  left  a  vine 
a-tremble  as  it  disappeared,  and  a  far-off  crow  had 
uttered  its  hoarse  note  as  it  alighted  on  a  naked  limb. 
But  as  this  deep,  reverberant,  single  note  boomed  out 
across  the  jungle,  there  came  a  sudden  hush  of  all 


THE  DRUM  81 

nature.  It  was  as  though  each  living  thing  caught  ter- 
ror at  the  sound.  Only  far  above,  as  though  they 
heard  a  summons,  the  black-winged  buzzards  idly  cir- 
cled over. 

The  note  came  again,  single,  deep,  vibrant,  smiting 
a  world  gone  silent.  There  had  been  the  interval  of  a 
full  minute  between  the  two  echoes  of  the  giant  drum. 
A  minute  followed  before  it  spoke  again.  And  thus 
there  boomed  out  across  the  jungle,  deep,  solemn, 
ominous,  miles-wide  in  its  far-reaching  quality,  this 
note  of  the  savage  drum;  the  drum  never  made  by 
white  hands,  never  seen  by  the  eyes  of  white  men ;  the 
drum  whose  note  has  never  yet  been  heard  in  the 
North,  but  which  some  day,  perhaps,  may  be;  whose 
note  is  not  yet  understood  by  those  of  the  North,  over- 
wise,  arrogant  in  the  arrogance  of  an  utter  ignorance, 
who  may  yet  one  day  hear  its  strange  and  frenzied 
summons ! 

The  drum  spoke  on— the  drum  of  the  savage  peo- 
ple, of  the  ancient  savage  tribes.  The  rolling  vibra- 
tion of  its  speech  swung  and  extended,  causing  the 
leaves  to  shiver  in  its  strange  power.  The  sound 
could  have  been  heard  for  miles— was  heard  for  miles. 
Slipping  down  the  little  leafy  paths  in  the  cane,  push- 
ing along  the  edges  of  the  highway  for  a  time,  ready 
to  step  out  of  sight  upon  the  instant  did  occasion  arise 


82  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

for  concealment ;  coming  down  the  paths  made  by  deer 
and  bear  and  panther;  moving  slowly  but  speedily 
and  with  confidence  through  this  cover  of  vine  and 
jungle,  to  which  the  black  man  takes  by  instinct,  but 
which  is  never  really  understood  by  the  white  man; 
knowing  the  secrets  of  this  savage  wilderness,  yield- 
ing to  its  summons  and  to  this  summons  of  the  com- 
pelling drum,  whose  note  shivered  and  throbbed 
through  all  the  heavy  air  of  the  afternoon — these  peo- 
ple, these  inhabitants  of  the  jungle,  slipped  and  slunk 
and  hesitated  and  came  on,  until  at  last  this  little, 
secret,  unknown  building  which  served  as  their  hid- 
den temple  was  fairly  packed  with  them ;  and  a  circle, 
open-eared,  alert  for  any  sudden  danger,  made  a  hu- 
man framing  half-hidden  in  the  shrouding  of  the 
mighty  canes. 

One  blast  of  the  horn  of  white  hunter  or  of  chance 
traveler,  and  the  spot  had  been  deserted  on  the  in- 
stant, its  peopling  vanished  beyond  discovery.  But 
there  was  no  horn  of  hunter,  no  sound  even  of  tinkling 
cow-bell,  no  voice  of  youth  in  song  or  conversation. 
Only  the  sound  of  the  great  drum,  the  drum  made 
years  ago  and  hidden  in  a  spot  known  to  few,  spoke 
out  its  sullen  summons,  slowly,  in  savage  deliberation. 
Its  sound  had  a  carrying  quality  of  its  own,  unknown 
in  white  men's  instruments.  It  was  heard  at  the  Big 


THE  DRUM  83 

House,  five  miles  away,  though  it  was  not  recognized 
as  an  actual  and  distinct  sound,  white  ears  not  being 
attuned  to  it.  Even  here  at  the  hidden  temple  it 
seemed  not  more  than  the  whisper  of  a  sound,  scarce 
louder  than  it  appeared  miles  away.  It  was  bell  and 
drum  in  one,  and  trump  of  doom  as  well. 

The  drum  spoke  on,  the  drum  of  the  jungle.  It 
whispered  of  revenge  to  those  who  crept  up  to  the 
dusky  drummer  and  stood  waiting  to  drink  in  at  each 
long  interval  this  deep  intoxicating  stimulus,  the  note 
of  the  priestly  drum.  And  each  deep  throb  of  the 
drum  carried  a  greater  frenzy,  a  frenzy  still  sup- 
pressed, yet  mysteriously  growing.  The  riot  of  the 
ominous  clanging  sank  into  the  blood  of  these  people, 
though  still  it  only  caused  them  to  shiver  and  now 
and  then  to  sob — to  sob !  these  giants,  these  tremend- 
ous human  beings,  these  black  or  bronze  Titans  of  the 
field,  transplanted — in  time,  perhaps,  to  have  their 
vengeance  of  the  ages !  They  stood,  their  eyes  rolling, 
their  mouths  slavering  slightly,  the  muscles  of  their 
shoulders  now  and  again  rolling  or  relaxing,  their 
hands  coming  tight  together,  palm  smitten  to  palm, 
jaw  clenched  hard  upon  its  fellow. 

The  drum  spoke  on.  Inside  the  low  log  building 
certain  preparations  progressed,  mummeries  peculiar 
to  the  tribesmen,  not  to  be  described,  strange,  gro- 


84  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

tesque,  sickening,  horrible.  A  few  donned  fantastic 
uniforms  cut  out  from  colored  oil-cloths.  They  placed 
upon  their  heads  plumed  hats  of  shapes  such  as  white 
men  do  not  create.  They  buckled  about  their  bodies 
belts  spangled  with  bits  of  shining  things  such  as 
white  men  do  not  wear.  They  drew  slowly  together 
and  passed  apart.  They  seated  themselves  now,  in 
long  rows,  upon  logs  hewn  out  as  benches,  on  either 
side  of  the  long  room;  but  restless  of  this,  they  rose 
again  and  again  to  pace,  walking,  walking,  uneasy, 
anxious.  Now  and  then  an  arm  was  flung  up.  Out- 
side, where  ranks  of  eyes  gazed  unwinking,  hypno- 
tized, upon  the  door  of  the  temple,  there  rose  no  sound 
save  now  and  then  this  strange  sobbing. 

And  still  the  drum  throbbed  on,  the  drum  of  the 
jungle,  whose  sound  not  all  white  men  have  heard  as 
yet.  The  forest  shivered  across  its  miles  of  matted 
growth,  as  it  heard  the  growling  voice  which  called, 
"The  Time!  The  Time!"  Relentless,  measured,  so 
spoke  the  savage  drum. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  BELL 

Meanwhile  at  the  Big  House  there  was  no  suspi- 
cion of  what  was  going  forward  in  the  forest  beyond ; 
indeed  the  occupants  had  certain  problems  of  their 
own  to  absorb  them.  A  strange  unrest  seemed  in  pos- 
session of  the  place.  Decherd  had  disappeared  for  a 
time.  Mrs.  Ellison,  in  her  own  room,  rang  and  called 
in  vain  for  Delphine.  The  master  himself,  moody 
and  aloof,  took  saddle  and  rode  across  the  fields;  but 
if  there  were  fewer  hands  at  labor  than  there  should 
have  been,  he  did  not  notice  the  fact  as  he  rode  on, 
his  hat  pulled  down  over  his  face,  and  his  mind 
busy  with  many  things,  not  all  of  which  were  pleasing 
to  him. 

As  for  Miss  Lady,  she  occupied  herself  during  the 
afternoon  much  after  the  fashion  of  any  young  girl  of 
seventeen  left  thus,  without  companions  of  her  own 
sex  and  age.  She  strolled  about  the  yard,  finding  fel- 
lowship with  the  hounds,  with  the  horses  in  the  neigh- 
boring pasture.  She  looked  up  in  pensive  question  at 
the  clouds,  feeling  the  soft  wind,  the  hot  kiss  of  the 

85 


86  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

sun  on  her  cheek.  Upon  her  soul  sat  the  melancholy 
of  youth.  In  her  heart  arose  unanswered  queries  of 
young  womanhood. 

Now,  as  to  this  young  man,  Henry  Decherd,  thought 
Miss  Lady,  why  should  he  trouble  her  by  being  con- 
tinually about  when  she  did  not  care  for  him?  Why 
had  he  been  so  eager,  even  from  the  first  day  when  he 
met  her  at  the  Big  House  ?  What  had  he  to  do  with 
her  coming  to  the  Big  House?  Why  did  her  mother 
now  leave  her  with  him,  and,  then  again,  capriciously 
call  her  away  from  him?  And  why  should  she  herself 
avoid  him,  dismiss  him,  and  then  wonder  whither  he 
had  gone? 

Miss  Lady,  with  one  vague  thought  or  another  in 
her  mind,  wandered  idly  back  to  the  great  drawing- 
room  where  but  an  hour  ago  she  had  last  seen  Henry 
Decherd.  He  was  not  there  as  she  peered  in  at  the 
door ;  wherefore  she  needed  no  excuse,  but  stepped  in 
and  dropped  into  a  chair  which  offered  invitation  in 
the  depths  of  the  half -darkened  room. 

A  beautiful  girl  was  Miss  Lady,  round  of  throat 
and  arm,  already  stately,  quite  past  the  days  of  flat 
immaturity.  A  veritable  young  goddess  one  might 
have  called  her,  with  her  high,  short  mouth  and  up- 
right head,  and  her  shoulders  carried  back  with  a  cer- 
tain haughtiness.  Yet  only  a  gracious,  pensive  god- 


THE  BELL  87 

dess  might  have  had  this  wistfulness  in  the  deep  eyes, 
this  little  pensive  droop  of  the  mouth  corners,  this 
piteous  quality  of  the  eye  which  left  one  saying  that 
here,  after  all,  was  a  maiden  most  like  to  the  wild  deer 
of  the  forest,  strong,  beautiful,  yet  timid;  ready  to 
flee,  yet  anxious  to  confide. 

As  she  sat  thus,  the  idle  gaze  of  Miss  Lady  chanced 
upon  an  object  lying  on  the  floor,  fallen  apparently 
by  accident  from  the  near-by  table.  She  stooped  to 
pick  it  up,  examining  it  at  first  carelessly  and  then 
with  greater  interest.  It  was  a  book,  a  little  old-fash- 
ioned book,  in  the  French  language,  the  covers  now 
broken  and  faded,  though  once  of  brave  red  morocco. 
The  type  was  old  and  quaint,  and  the  paper  yellow  with 
age.  Miss  Lady  had  never  seen  this  book  before,  and 
now,  failing  better  occupation,  fell  to  reading  in  it. 
Presently  she  became  so  absorbed  that  once  more  she 
was  surprised  by  the  quiet  approach  of  Mrs.  Ellison. 
The  latter  paused  at  the  door,  looked  in  and  coughed 
a  second  time.  Miss  Lady  started  in  surprise. 

"You  frightened  me,  mamma,"  said  she,  "coming 
up  so  close.  You  are  always  frightening  me  that  way. 
Do  you  think  I  need  watching  all  the  time?" 

"Well,  you  know,  my  child,  we  must  not  keep  Col- 
onel Blount  waiting  for  his  dinner." 

"But  tell  me,  what  book  is  this,  mamma?"  said 


88  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Miss  Lady  to  her.  "It's  French.  See,  I  can  read 
some  of  it.  It  is  about  people  in  St.  Louis  years  and 
years  ago.  It  tells  about  a  Louise  Loisson — isn't  that 
a  pretty  name? — wiho  was  a  captive  among  the 
Indians,  or  something  of  that  sort.  She  was  an  heir- 
ess, like  enough,  too,  I  can't  make  out  just  what,  but 
certainly  well-born.  I  think  her  father  was  a  count,  or 
something.  Mamma,  you  should  have  insisted  upon 
my  taking  up  French  more  thoroughly  when  I  was  at 
the  Sisters'.  Now,  this  is  the  strangest  thing." 

"Nonsense,  child.  Can't  you  spend  your  time  bet- 
ter than  fooling  with  such  trash?" 

"It  isn't  trash,  mamma.  The  girl  went  to  France, 
to  Paris,  and  she  danced — she  was  famous." 

Mrs.  Ellison  shifted  uneasily.  "You  are  old  enough 
to  begin  reading  books  of  proper  sort.  I  don't  know 
how  you  pick  up  such  notions  as  this,"  said  she. 

"Is  not  the  book  yours,  mamma?" 

"Why,  no,  of  course  not.  I  don't  know  whose  it  is." 

How  much  it  might  have  saved  Mrs.  Ellison  later 
had  she  now  simply  picked  up  this  book,  admitted  its 
ownership  and  so  concealed  it  for  ever!  How  much, 
too,  that  had  meant  in  the  life  of  Miss  Lady,  its 
chance  finder !  Yet  this  was  not  to  be.  Fate  sometimes 
teaches  a  woman  to  say  the  thing  which  at  the  instant 


THE  BELL  89 

relieves,  though  it  later  damns.  It  was  Mrs.  Ellison's 
fate  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  this  little  volume. 

"Come,  we  must  hurry,  my  child,"  she  repeated. 
Miss  Lady  resolved  to  come  back  after  dinner  and 
look  further  into  this  interesting  book.  Mrs.  Ellison 
resolved  the  same.  Her  interest  in  the  little  volume 
was  far  greater  than  she  cared  to  evince.  She  hesi- 
tated. Her  eyes  turned  to  it  again  and  again,  her 
hands  longed  to  clutch  it.  Once  more  in  her  posses- 
sion, she  resolved  that  never  in  the  future  should  it  be 
left  lying  carelessly  about,  to  fall  into  precisely  the 
wrong  hands.  She  hurried  Miss  Lady  away  from  the 
place. 

"Go  and  get  ready  for  dinner,"  she  commanded, 
"and  try  to  look  your  best  to-night;  you  know  we've 
Mr.  Decherd,  and  perhaps  other  company.  That  girl 
Delphine  has  run  away,  and  I  had  to  look  after  things 
myself;  I  don't  want  you  to  disgrace  me — " 

"I'll  try  not,"  said  Miss  Lady,  coolly,  and  swept 
her  a  mocking  courtesy. 

Mrs.  Ellison  gazed  after  her  with  ill-veiled  hos- 
tility, but  turned  away  presently,  quite  as  anxious  as 
she  was  angry.  This  girl  was  a  problem,  and  a  dan- 
gerous one  as  well. 

Things  were  not  going  smoothly  at  the  Big  House. 
Sam,  the  curly-headed,  embryonic  butler,  who  gazed 


90  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

out  over  Colonel  Blount's  dinner-table  each  evening 
in  solemn  dignity,  knew  that  something  was  wrong 
with  his  people  that  evening,  though  he  could  not 
tell  what.  Some  of  them  talked  too  much.  Miss  Lady 
laughed  too  much.  The  boss  was  too  thoughtful, 
and  young  Massa  Decherd— whom  Sam  had  never 
learned  to  like — was  too  scowling.  Little  Sam  was  al- 
most relieved  when  a  knock  summoned  him  without, 
and  he  betook  his  ten  years  of  dignity  from  Colonel 
Blount's  right  hand,  to  learn  what  might  be  wanted 
at  the  door. 

"What  is  it,  Sam?"  asked  Colonel  Blount. 

"M-m-m-m-man  outside,  sah,  h-h-h-he  wants  to  see 
you,  sah." 

"Well,  Sam,  if  there  is  a  gentleman  outside,  why 
don't  you  ask  him  to  come  in  and  eat  with  us?  Don't 
you  know  your  manners,  Sam?  Why  do  I  give  you 
this  place  to  run  if  you  can't  ask  a  gentleman  to  come 
in  and  sit  at  your  table  when  we  are  having  dinner?" 

"D-d-did  as-s-s-sk  him,  sah,"  said  Sam,  "b-b-but 
he  wouldn't  c-c-c-come  in;  n-n-n-no,  sah,  wouldn't 
c-c-c-come  in." 

"What,  wouldn't  come  in,  eh?" 

"No,  sah,  s-s-s-says  you  must  come  out,  sah.  W-w- 
w-wants  to  see  you,  sah.  H-h-h-he  won't  wait." 

It  was  the  claim  agent  of  the  Y.  V.  railroad  who 


THE  BELL  91 

stood  on  the  gallery  awaiting  the  appearance  of  Col- 
onel Blount.  The  latter  looked  at  him  quietly  for  a 
moment,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Come  in,"  said  he,  "you  are  just  in  time  for  din- 
ner. I  'm  glad  to  see  you  back. ' ' 

"Colonel  Blount,"  said  Eddring,  in  spite  of  him- 
self grown  again  swiftly  choleric,  "damn  your  din- 
ner! I  have  come  back  because  as  a  white  man  I've 
got  to  tell  you  what  you  ought  to  know."  There  was 
an  eagerness  in  his  tone  whose  import  was  recognized 
by  Blount. 

"What's  up?"  said  he,  shortly.    "Niggers?" 

"Yes,  down  below  there." 

"Down  towards  the  Sands'  place?" 

"Yes,  they've  been  holding  a  meeting  all  the 
afternoon;  they've  got  a  regular  church  over  there  in 
the  cane.  They  've  got  a  leader  this  time,  of  some  sort ; 
I  can't  find  out  who  it  is,  but  it  all  means  trouble. 
There  has  been  a  plot  going  on  for  a  long  time.  They 
think  you  have  been  too  rough  with  them,  and,  in 
fact,  I  reckon  they  are  just  generally  right  desperate 
and  dangerous.  They've  heard  a  lot  of  this  political 
and  educational  talk  from  up  North,  and  it's  done 
what  might  have  been  expected  all  along.  The  nig- 
gers are  up.  They  are  going  to  march  on  your  house 
to-night.  Why,  haven't  you  heard  their  infernal  drum 


92  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

going  all  the  evening?     This  is  insurrection,  I  tell 
you!" 

"Come  in,"  said  Blount,  simply.    "I  thank  you." 

"I  don't  want  any  thanks,"  said  Eddring,  "I  am 
telling  you  this  because  you  are  a  white  man  and  so 
ami.  It  is  my  duty." 

Blount  reached  out  his  hand  again.  "Not  neces- 
sary, ' '  said  Eddring ;  but  the  older  man  threw  a  long 
arm  over  his  shoulders,  so  that  for  an  instant  they 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes;  then  quickly  Eddring 
turned  and  caught  Blount  by  the  hand. 

"I  can't  come  in,"  said  he,  "until  you  take  back 
this  infernal  voucher  we  were  wrangling  over." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Blount,  "I  will  take  it,  if  that  will 
please  you,  or  you  may  keep  it,  if  that  will  please 
you  better.  There's  no  time  for  that  sort  of  thing 
now.  Come  in  and  sit  down  at  my  table— and  now 
you,  Sam,  run  and  tell  Mollie  to  ring  the  big  plan- 
tation bell,  and  keep  it  ringing  until  I  tell  her  to 
stop." 

John  Eddring  thus  came  back  to  the  Big  House 
which  lately  he  had  left  in  anger ;  and  as  he  entered 
the  great  dining-room  he  saw  once  more  his  coveted 
picture,  the  image  of  the  morning,  the  tall  young  girl 
with  the  brown  ruff  of  hair  rolling  back  from  the 
smooth  brow,  above  the  clear-seeing  dark  eyes.  Here 


THE  BELL  93 

again,  by  miracle,  had  come  his  friend,  to  meet  him 
in  the  smother  of  the  grimy  way  of  life!  Yet  he 
thought  the  girl  looked  at  him  but  coldly  as  he  stood 
wearily  apart.  He  felt  himself  unaccredited,  a  man 
of  no  station.  Again  there  swept  over  him  the  feel- 
ing of  his  own  insufficiency,  his  own  failure  of  all 
life's  things  worth  having.  It  seemed  to  him  that  in 
this  young  girl 's  gaze  there  called  out  to  him  the  cool, 
insolent  tone  of  pitiless  youth,  saying:  "I  know  you 
not;  you  are  not  my  friend." 

Himself  simple  and  direct  in  good  masculine  sort, 
he  knew  little  of  such  thing  as  coquetry,  nor  knew 
that  the  soul  feminine  might  hide  much  curiosity,  if 
not  interest,  behind  a  glance  indifferently  turned,  a 
word  calmly  or  coolly  spoken.  And  so  he  raged,  un- 
happy in  his  own  ignorance,  and  most  of  all  unhappy 
for  that,  now  disobedient  to  all  his  mandates,  there 
surged  up  in  his  heart  a  great  and  dangerous  longing, 
the  mutiny  of  a  soul  too  long  crushed  down  by  the 
iron  hand  of  the  commonplace, — the  iron  hand  of  this 
thing  called  Duty. 

Out  of  this  sudden  conflict,  and  out  of  this  sudden 
misery,  he  could  formulate  no  better  course  of  action 
to  set  him  straight;  and  in  the  uneasy  silence,  tense, 
overstrung,  he  almost  longed  for  that  physical  action 
which  he  knew  must  presently  follow. 


94  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

But  now  there  pealed  out  suddenly  upon  the  air  of 
evening  the  mighty  clangor  of  the  great  bell,  the  one 
used  only  in  time  of  stress  at  the  Big  House,  which 
soon  sent  all  else  silent.  High  and  clear  arose  the  note, 
ringing  out  for  a  moment  and  then  silent,  only  to  re- 
sume. The  dinner  in  the  great  hall  passed  with  few 
explanations  vouchsafed,  and  presently  Mrs.  Ellison 
hurried  Miss  Lady  away.  Eddring,  dimly  aware  that 
now  in  spite  of  himself  he  was  established  on  some  sort 
of  footing  in  the  Big  House,  none  the  less  reflected 
that  the  occasion  counted  for  but  little  from  a  social 
standpoint.  He  caught  himself  looking  at  the  door 
where  the  tall  young  woman  had  disappeared.  For 
the  time  he  forgot  his  own  station,  and  his  own  er- 
rand in  that  place.  He  forgot  no  more  than  an  in- 
stant, for  there  came  to  him  the  swift  feeling  that  a 
grave  peril  impended  for  this  girl,  for  all  the  white 
women  of  the  house.  From  that  moment  his  problems 
became  savagely  impersonal.  He  was  simply  one  of 
a  few  men  called  upon  to  defend  a  home,  and  the 
women  of  that  home.  He  asked  his  soul  as  to  his 
fitness  for  the  task,  and  rejoiced  grimly  that  he  found 
himself  calm  and  ready  for  this  thing  which  was 
now  his  duty. 

Colonel  Calvin  Blount  scarcely  spoke,  yet  he  gladly 
welcomed  his  neighbor,  the  storekeeper,  Ben  Buckner, 


THE  BELL  95 

who  now  came  strolling  up  to  the  gallery  steps;  and 
he  smiled  with  yet  greater  pleasure  when  he  peered 
out  of  the  window  into  the  twilight  and  saw  riding  up 
to  the  gate  his  other  neighbor,  Jim  Bowles,  who  car- 
ried across  the  saddle  in  front  of  him  a  long  rifle.  Be- 
hind Bowles,  on  the  family  mule,  sat  his  wife,  Sarah 
Ann,  dipping  snuff  vigorously. 

"Good  even',  Gunnel,"  said  Bowles,  alighting,  "I 
heah  you-all  got  a  b'ah  this  mawnin'.  I  just  brung 
my  own  gun  'long  heah,  'lowin'  I  might  see  somethin' 
'long  the  road,  even  if  it  is  gittin'  a  little  dark." 
Blount  smiled  grimly.  No  mention  was  made  of  the 
ringing  of  the  bell  until  Blount  himself  explained. 

"You-all  know  something  is  up,"  said  he. 

"Yas,  sah,"  said  Buckner,  evincing  no  great  curi- 
osity. 

""Well,  there's  trouble  enough  on  hand  right  now. 
We  need  every  white  man  we  can  get.  Bowles,  take 
your  wife  inside  to  get  something  to  eat,  and  you,  Ben, 
go  back  and  get  your  women-folks;  and  don't  forget 
your  Winchester. ' ' 

The  bell  spoke  on.  The  plantation  paths  now  began 
to  blacken  with  slowly  moving  figures,  but  within  the 
Big  House  there  was  no  confusion.  Colonel  Blount 
paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  gallery.  Hearing  foot- 
falls, he  turned. 


96  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

' '  Oh,  it 's  you,  Decherd,  is  it  ?  I  'm  right  glad  you  're 
going  home  to-morrow  morning,  and  not  to-night.  We 
need  men  who  can  shoot.  I  will  give  you  something 
for  every  black  head  you  can  make  a  hole  in  to-night. 
What  would  you  like?  Say  about  two  dollars?"  De- 
cherd gulped  and  reddened,  and  made  such  shame- 
faced defense  as  he  could.  There  was  an  ugly  look 
of  ill  temper  on  his  face,  but  he  found  Calvin  Blount 
a  hard  man  to  approach  with  any  masculine  as- 
perities. 

"The  next  time,"  said  Blount  to  him,  quietly,  "if 
I  were  you,  Mr.  Decherd,  and  I  heard  the  Blount  pack 
going  out,  I  don't  believe  I  would  ride  along."  He 
was  away  before  Decherd  could  frame  reply.  At 
that  instant  Eddring  appeared  on  the  gallery  calling 
out  to  him. 

"Listen,  listen  to  it,"  cried  Eddring,  "don't  you 
hear  it  ?  That 's  their  drum ;  it 's  coming  closer. ' ' 

The  little  party  of  white  men  faced  toward  the 
sound. 

"Here,  Bill,"  cried  Blount.  "Call  the  ladies  here 
to  me  at  once."  He  turned  to  them,  as  presently  they 
appeared,  questioning  him. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said,  "there's  going  to  be  a  little 
trouble,  but  we  can  handle  it.  It's  out  of  the  dif- 
ficulty with  that  Sands  nigger  that  I  was  telling  you 


THE  BELL  97 

about,  Mrs.  Ellison.  Now,  here,  you  and  Miss  Lady 
take  these  two  pistols,  and  go  into  Miss  Lady's  room. 
No  matter  what  happens,  you  stay  there  until  you  are 
called.  If  any  one  tries  to  get  into  the  room,  wait 
until  he  gets  almost  in,  then  shoot,  and  shoot  straight. 
Don't  be  scared,  and  keep  quiet;  we'll  take  care  of 
you,  these  gentlemen  and  myself.  I  must  tell  you 
that  it  was  my  friend  Mr.  Eddring  here  who  brought 
the  news  and  warned  us.  You  ought  to  thank  him, 
but  not  now;  get  on  into  that  room." 

The  women  took  the  weapons,  and  Eddring  noticed 
that  of  the  two  Mrs.  Ellison  seemed  the  more  fright- 
ened. The  younger  one  was  pale,  but  her  eye  did  not 
flicker  or  falter.  She  looked  straight  at  each  man,  at 
Bowles  and  Buckner,  both  impassive,  at  Calvin 
Blount,  now  beginning  to  flush  under  his  fighting 
choler;  yes,  and  at  last  at  him,  John  Eddring,  pale 
and  serious,  but  steady  as  the  door-jamb  against 
which  he  leaned. 

"It  was  fortunate  for  us,  sir,  that  you  came,"  she 
said  in  a  voice  that  did  not  tremble  as  much  as  did 
his  in  stammering  a  reply.  So  she  passed  on  within, 
and  the  eyes  of  those  silent  men  followed  her. 

"Now  then,  Bill,"  cried  Calvin  Blount,  sharply, 
' '  get  the  hands  into  line  so  we  can  count  them.  Here, 
into  the  kitchen  there,  all  you  people,  every  one  of 


98  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

you.  If  I  see  a  head  out  of  the  window  this  night  it 
will  get  a  hole  put  through  it.  Do  you  hear?  Get 
under  cover  and  stay  there.  Ring  that  bell,  Bill, 
louder,  louder!  Keep  it  going!  We'll  show  these 
people  what  we  think,  and  what  we  '11  do. ' ' 

So,  high  over  the  droning  sounds  of  sleeping  even- 
ing-tide, there  arose  the  challenge  of  the  white  man's 
bell,  calling  out  to  the  savage  drum  its  answer  and 
its  defiance. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  VOLCANO. 

At  length  the  sound  of  bell  and  drum  alike 
ceased.  The  great  house  went  grim  and  silent.  The 
sound  of  the  flying  night-jars  died  away,  and  the 
chorus  of  crickets  and  katydids  began  as  the  dusk  set- 
tled down.  Inside  the  kitchen,  a  detached  building 
in  which  the  plantation  forces  were  now  practically 
confined,  there  arose  occasional  sounds  of  half -hyster- 
ical laughter,  snatches  of  excited  talk,  now  and  then 
the  quavering  of  a  hymn.  In  the  kennel  yards  a 
hound,  prescient,  raised  his  voice,  and  was  joined 
by  another,  until  the  whole  pack,  stirred  by  some  tense 
feeling  in  the  air,  lifted  up  in  tremulous  unison  a 
far-reaching  wail. 

After  a  time  even  the  mingled  calling  of  the  pack 
droned  away,  and  silence  came  once  more,  a  silence 
hard  to  endure,  since  now  each  occupant  of  the  Big 
House  knew  that  the  assailants  must  be  close  about. 
Each  man  had  a  window  assigned  to  his  care,  and  so 
all  settled  for  the  task  ahead.  An  hour  passed  that 
seemed  a  score  of  hours.  Then,  over  toward  the  rail- 

99 


100  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

road  track,  there  came  a  confused  sound  of  muffled 
footfalls  in  ragged  unison,  and  presently  a  sort  of 
chant,  broken  now  and  then  by  shoutings.  Suddenly 
there  boomed  out  once  more,  full  and  unmistakable, 
the  voice  of  the  great  drum  of  Africa.  The  beating 
was  now  rapid  and  sonorous,  and  the  sound  of  the 
drum  was  accompanied  by  a  savage  volume  of  cries. 
A  mass  of  shadow  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  lane, 
soon  lapping  over  into  the  yard  in  front  of  the  Big 
House. 

There  arose  near  at  hand  answering  calls,  contain- 
ing a  scarcely  concealed  note  of  encouragement.  At  a 
window  in  the  kitchen  there  appeared  a  head  and  arm 
thrust  out.  Eddring  saw  it  and  pointed.  "Why 
don't  you  shoot,  man?"  said  the  slow  voice  of  Bowles 
at  his  elbow. 

"I  can't;  it's  murder!"  said  Eddring,  drawing 
away.  Yet  even  as  he  did  so  he  saw  the  long  brown 
barrel  of  the  squirrel  rifle  rise  level  and  hang  motion- 
less. There  came  a  sharp,  thin,  inadequate  report,  and 
at  the  kitchen  window  the  shoulders  of  the  unfor- 
tunate flung  upward  and  fell  hanging.  Eddring  felt 
sick  with  horror,  but  Bowles  lowered  his  rifle  calmly, 
as  if  this  were  but  target  practice.  Not  a  hand 
in  the  kitchen  dared  pull  back  into  the  room  the  body 
of  the  dead  negro. 


THE  VOLCANO  101 

And  now  there  came  a  sudden  rush  of  feet ;  a  med- 
ley of  deep-throated  callings  came  almost  from  the 
gallery  edge.  The  assault,  savage,  useless,  almost 
hopeless,  had  begun.  Eddring  remembered  always 
that  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  young  gentleman, 
Henry  Decherd,  was  a  trifle  pale ;  that  Bowles  was  at 
least  a  dozen  feet  tall;  that  Colonel  Calvin  Blount 
was  quite  turned  to  stone;  and  that  he  himself  was 
not  there  personally,  but  merely  witnessing  some  fierce 
and  fearful  nightmare  in  which  others  were  con- 
cerned. Once  he  heard  Mrs.  Ellison  call  repeatedly  to 
Delphine,  and  was  dimly  conscious  that  there  was  no 
answer.  Once,  too,  he  saw,  standing  at  the  door,  the 
tall  figure  of  the  young  girl,  Miss  Lady— the  white 
girl,  the  prototype  of  civilization ;  woman,  sweet,  to  be 
shielded,  to  be  cared  for,  to  be  protected— yea,  though 
it  were  with  a  man's  heart-blood.  And  after  this 
spectacle  John  Eddring  looked  about  him  no  more,  but 
cherished  his  rifle  and  used  it. 

About  him  were  vague  and  confused  sounds  of  a 
conflict  of  which  he  saw  little  save  that  directly  in 
front  of  his  own  window.  He  was  conscious  of  a  sec- 
ond insignificant  rifle-crack  at  his  right,  and  heard 
other  shots  from  Blount 's  window  at  the  left.  His 
own  work  he  did  methodically,  feeling  that  his  duty 
was  plain  to  him.  He  was  a  rifleman.  His  firing  was 


102  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

not  aimless,  but  exact,  careful,  pitilessly  unagitated. 

The  black  mass  in  front  broke  and  scattered,  and 
drew  together  again  and  came  on.  The  assailants 
reached  every  portion  of  the  front  yard,  hiding  be- 
hind buildings,  trees,  anything  they  could  find.  At 
the  rear  of  the  house,  among  the  barns,  there  arose 
the  yelping  of  dogs  cut  down  at  the  kennels,  and 
screams  rang  out  where  the  maddened  blacks,  no 
longer  human,  were  stabbing  horses  and  cattle  and 
leaving  them  half  dead.  Then  there  arose  a  sud- 
den nicker  of  flame.  Some  voice  cried  out  that  they 
had  fired  the  cotton-gin.  From  other  buildings 
closer  at  hand  there  also  arose  flames.  From  the 
kitchen  came  cries  and  lamentations.  Here  and  there 
over  the  ground,  plain  in  the  moonlight,  or  huddled 
blackly  in  the  shadows,  there  lay  long  blurs  where  the 
rifles  had  done  their  work.  Yet  from  a  point  not  far 
from  the  corner  of  the  gallery  there  came  continual 
firing. 

"That's  from  behind  that  board-pile  out  there," 
cried  Blount,  stepping  back  from  his  window. 
"We've  got  to  get  them  out."  Eddring,  not  pausing 
for  speech,  plunged  out  of  the  window,  rushed  across 
the  gallery  and  over  the  narrow  space  to  the  shelter 
whence  was  coming  this  close  firing.  His  weapon  spoke 


THE  VOLCANO  103 

once  and  was  lowered.  Then  he  fled  back  as  swiftly 
as  he  had  gone. 

"Get  back  in  here,  you  fool!"  cried  Blount,  pulling 
him  in  at  the  window  as  he  returned.  "How  many 
were  there?" 

"Two,"  said  Eddring,  breathless.  "One  was  a 
woman. ' ' 

"Woman!"  cried  Blount;  "what  woman?" 

There  was  no  time  to  ponder  as  to  this,  for  now 
shouts  sounded  behind  them.  The  crashing  of  glass 
and  cries  of  fear  came  from  the  room  where  the 
women  had  been  left.  The  men  hurried  thither,  and 
as  they  gained  the  door,  a  black  face  appeared  at  the 
broken  pane.  Once  more  Eddring  felt  hesitation  at 
what  seemed  simple  murder,  yet  still  his  rifle  was 
rising  when  he  felt  a  sudden  dizziness  assail  him.  A 
long  arm  pushed  him  away.  He  saw  the  brown  bar- 
rel of  the  squirrel  rifle  rising  into  line  once  more.  The 
black  at  the  window  fell  back,  shot  through  the  fore- 
head. Sarah  Ann  handed  Jim  Bowles  another  bullet. 
"I  always  did  love  you,  ol'  man,"  said  Sarah  Ann, 
as  he  blew  the  smoke  from  the  long  barrel  of  his  rifle 
before  reloading. 

Eddring  saw  and  heard  thus  much,  but  presently 
he  sank  half-unconscious,  not  knowing  the  puzzle  of 
the  shot  which  had  struck  him  here  so  far  toward  the 


104  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

interior  of  the  house.  After  a  time  the  horror  of  it  all 
drew  to  its  climax  and  passed  on.  Buckner,  the  store- 
keeper, slipped  down  to  the  railroad  station  and  set 
going  an  imperative  clicking  on  the  wire.  Two  hours 
later  there  came  a  special  train,  whose  appearance  put 
an  end  to  the  conflict.  Dawn  found  the  engine  fuming 
at  the  station-house,  and  dawn  saw  the  Big  House 
still  standing,  charred  a  little  at  one  corner,  near 
which  lay  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  who  had  sought 
to  apply  the  brand.  Eddring,  still  faint  and  dizzy, 
but  not  seriously  hurt,  sat  at  a  little  table  opposite 
Colonel  Blount,  who,  himself  gray  and  gaunt,  had 
paused  for  a  time  in  his  uneasy  walk  about  the  pre- 
mises. A  mocking-bird  on  the  trellis  without  the  door 
trilled  its  song  high  and  sweet,  as  though  the  coming 
sunshine  could  reveal  nothing  of  that  which  had  been 
there. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE 

John  Eddring,  one  morning,  a  month  or  so  after 
the  Big  House  battle,  sat  in  the  offices  devoted  to  the 
use  of  the  division  claim  agent  of  the  Y.  Y.  lines, 
whose  headquarters  were  situated  in  a  squat  build- 
ing around  which  went  on  the  scattered  industries 
of  the  city  known  as  the  industrial  capital  of  a  cer- 
tain region  of  the  South.  Beyond  these  dingy  con- 
fines might  have  been  seen  other  structures  yet  more 
squat  and  dreary,  from  which  issued  the  lines  of 
iron  rails  which  led  out  into  the  South,  rails  which 
even  here  paralleled  the  shores  of  the  great  river,  as 
though  dependent  upon  it  for  maintenance  and 
guidance.  The  mighty  flood,  unmindful,  swept  to- 
ward the  South,  its  tawny  mane  far  out  in  mid- 
stream wrinkled  by  the  breath  of  an  up-stream  air. 

Beyond  the  nearest  bend  there  arose,  above  the 
cover  of  the  gray  forest,  the  dense  smoke  of  a  steamer, 
and  near  at  hand  there  came  now  and  again  the 
coughing  roar  of  the  whistles  of  yet  other  river  boats. 
Slow  smoke  issued  also  from  steamers  tied  up  at  the 

105 


106  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

levee,  where,  under  low  wooden  canopies,  lay  piles 
and  rows  of  brown-cased  cotton  bales,  continually  in- 
creased in  number  by  other  bales  brought  up  in  long 
drays,  each  drawn  by  a  single  mule.  Above  the  hot 
wharves  rose  the  slope  of  close  stone  riprapping, 
fence  against  Father  Messasebe,  who  now  and  then, 
in  spirit  of  sport  or  of  forgetfulness,  reached  out 
for  his  immemorial  tribute  of  the  soil.  The  sun  was 
reflected  from  this  wall  down  on  the  depot  building 
and  the  wharf  floor  beyond.  Across  the  water  came 
the  strumming  of  a  banjo,  and  the  low  note  of  sing- 
ing also  arose  from  the  rooms  where  workmen 
shuffled  about  with  truck  and  hook,  shifting  the  cot- 
ton bales.  An  inspector,  almost  the  only  white  man 
at  the  wharf,  moved  slowly  from  bale  to  bale,  ripping 
the  covers  with  his  knife  and  probing  with  his  cotton 
auger  into  the  middle  of  each  bale  to  test  its  quality. 
Mules  dozed  about  with  lopping  ears.  Nowhere  was 
there  haste ;  neither  here  nor  on  the  street ;  nor  in  the 
railway  offices  beyond,  where  sat  John  Eddring,  agent 
of  the  personal  injury  department  of  this  southern 
railway. 

The  room  was  not  attractive,  with  its  few  chairs,  its 
rows  of  letter  files,  its  desks  and  copying  presses.  The 
table  at  which  Eddring  sat  was  worn  and  lacking  in 
polish.  Upon  the  wall  hung  a  map  showing  the  divers 


107 

lines  of  the  Y.  V.  railroad;  a  chart  depicting  the 
street  crossings  in  the  city  of  New  Orleans;  an  engi- 
neer's elevation  of  a  bridge  somewhere  on  the  line. 
Severely  professional  were  these  surroundings;  as 
was  indeed  the  central  figure  in  the  room,  who  now 
sat  at  his  desk  opening  the  morning  mail.  He  looked 
up  presently  as  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and 
soon  was  on  his  feet,  hat  in  hand ;  for  the  first  caller 
of  the  day  proved  to  be  a  lady.  Apparently  she  was 
an  acquaintance  of  the  claim  agent,  who  addressed 
her  by  name. 

* '  Come  in,  Mrs.  Wilson, ' '  he  said  pleasantly. 

Mrs.  "Wilson,  just  arrived  from  a  small  town  down 
the  railroad,  had  brought  with  her  her  sister,  her 
mother  and  four  children,  not  to  mention  a  neighbor 
who  had  come  along  to  do  a  little  shopping.  Eddring 
employed  himself  in  getting  a  sufficient  number  of 
chairs  for  this  little  body  of  visitors.  Inquiries  as 
to  the  health  of  himself  and  his  family  ensued,  recip- 
rocated politely  by  Eddring,  who  asked  after  Mrs. 
Wilson's  kith  and  kin  and  the  leading  citizens  of  her 
town.  These  preliminaries  were  long,  but  the  claim 
agent  was  apparently  well  acquainted  with  them  and 
regarded  them  as  necessary. 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Eddring,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "I've 
come  in  heah  this  rnawnin'  to  see  you  about  ouah 


108  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

hawse.  You  know  ouah  Molly  hawse  got  kilt  down  at 
the  depot  two  weeks  ago  by  the  railroad  kyahs.  I  de- 
clare, I  felt  so  bad  I  sat  down  and  cried;  I  couldn't 
get  supper  that  day.  We  was  so  much  attached  to 
Molly — why,  Mr.  Eddring,  you  don't  know  how  bad 
we-all  did  feel  about  that  hawse.  It  don't  seem 
right  to  us  nohow. ' ' 

"No,  things  do  go  wrong  sometimes,  Mrs.  Wilson," 
said  Eddring,  soothingly.  "Now,  I  know  that  horse. 
Mr.  Wilson  drove  me  behind  her  the  other  day  when 
I  was  down  at  your  town.  Good  horse.  A  little  old 
and  a  trifle  lame,  if  I  remember  right."  He  smiled 
pleasantly. 

' '  Lame !  Why,  Molly  never  was  lame  a  day  in  her 
whole  life.  She  never  did  have  no  lameness  at  all, 
unless  it  was  a  sort  of  hitch  now  and  then  like,  but 
you  couldn't  call  it  right  lame.  Now,  Mr.  Wilson 
didn't  come  up.  I  tol'  him  you  was  a  mighty  nice 
man  and  you  wouldn't  let  a  lady  get  the  worst  of  a 
business  deal.  I  thought  we  could  talk  it  over  and 
you  would  do  about  what  was  right.  Now,  two  hun- 
dred dollars — " 

"Two  hundred  dollars!  Why,  my  dear  madam, 
you  know  I  can  get  you  another  horse — " 

"Get  us  another  hawse  like  Molly!  I'd  like  to 
know  where  you  can  get  a  hawse  that's  been  in  ouah 


ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  109 

family  twenty  years  for  any  two  hundred  dollars! 
Why,  Mr.  Eddring,  I  always  thought  you  was  a  fair- 
minded  gentleman." 

"Don't  call  me  that,  don't  call  me  a  gentleman," 
said  Eddring,  "and  don't  you  call  me  fair-minded! 
But  now,  just  look  here.  We  didn't  ask  that 
Molly  horse  to  get  on  our  track.  We  didn't  want 
to  kill  her,  now,  did  we?  All  we  wanted  was  to 
steam  up  there  to  the  platform,  and  put  off  some 
groceries  and  let  off  a  few  passengers.  We  didn't 
want  to  kill  anybody's  horse.  Now,  I  know  Molly 
has  been  in  your  family  a  long  time;  a  good  horse, 
I  don 't  deny  it.  We  couldn  't  make  it  right  with  you 
if  we  paid  you  a  thousand  dollars;  so  just  let's  forget 
it  and  try  to  be  friends.  Let  me  give  you  a  check 
for  forty  dollars." 

"Forty  dollars!" 

"Now,  then,  Mrs.  Wilson,  this  is  not  to  be  for 
Molly,  it's  just  trying  to  be  friendly.  I  want  to  feel 
free  to  come  down  and  sit  at  your  table  and  look  you 
all  in  the  face." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  could  do  that,  and  only  pay 
me  forty  dollars,  Mr.  Eddring."  A  grieved  look  sat 
on  the  lady's  face. 

"Well,  now,  I  reckon  I  could,  if  I  just  saw  you 
dressed  up  in  a  new  gown  that  I  saw  in  the  window 


110  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

down  at  the  store  this  morning.  I  reckon  I  could,  if 
I  saw  hanging  in  your  hall  that  hat  that  I  saw  this 
morning,  down  on  the  street." 

"Do  you  think  forty  dollars  would  buy  them,  Mr. 
Eddring?"  asked  Mrs.  Wilson. 

"Surely  it  would,  and  leave  you  enough  to  pay  for 
your  whole  trip  up  here,  and  buy  some  things  for  the 
children  besides.  Now,  look  here,  I  don't  want  you 
to  think  I'm  offering  that  to  pay  you  for  Molly.  I 
ain't  paying  for  any  horses  for  Mr.  Wilson.  He  is 
a  gentleman  that  don't  need  ask  favors  of  anybody, 
and  he's  going  to  pick  out  his  own  horses.  You  tell 
him  I  said  he  was  a  good  judge  of  a  horse.  I  want 
you  to  tell  him  I  scorn  to  offer  you  money  for  this 
here  Molly  horse  of  yours — I  scorn  to  do  so.  Mr. 
Wilson  will  make  more  than  two  hundred  dollars  in 
a  day  or  so,  the  way  cotton  is  going  up  this  week. 
I  just  throw  in  this  forty  dollars— here  is  the  voucher 
for  it— so  as  to  show  you  I  am  your  friend.  Now,  if 
you  ever  want  any  shopping  done  up  here  any  time,, 
Mrs.  Wilson,  just  write  to  me  and  I'll  do  the  best  I 
can.  I  'd  go  right  down  to  the  store  with  you  to  look 
at  that  dress,  if  it  wasn  't  that  I  have  to  be  right  busy 
here  for  a  while.  ,Good-by,  Mrs.  Wilson,  good-by, 
madam.  Good-by  to  you  all.  I  am  glad  you  all  came 
in.  Good-by,  little  folks;  here's  something;"  and 


Ill 

each  small  hand  received  a  silver  piece  from  the  claim 
agent. 

Mrs.  Wilson  passed  out  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion on  her  face.  On  the  stairway  she  sighed.  "Well, 
he  is  a  nice  man,  anyhow,"  said  she,  to  her  com- 
panion. 

This  little  party  had  scarce  disappeared  before 
there  came  another  visitor,  this  time  a  fat  colored 
woman  of  middle  age,  who  labored  up  the  stair  and 
halted  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,  auntie,"  called  the  claim  agent,  from  his 
desk,  "what's  the  matter?" 

"You  know  whut's  the  matter,  Mr.  Edd'ron,"  said 
the  caller.  "You  'membehs  me?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  claim  agent,  "you  had  a  baby 
run  down  at  the  street  crossing  yesterday.  We  sent 
it  to  the  hospital.  How  is  it  getting  along?" 

"Hit's  daid,  Mr.  Edd'ron.  Yas  sah,  my  HI'  Gawge 
is  daid." 

"What?    Oh,  pshaw!" 

"Yas  sah,  lil'  Gawge  done  die  six  o'clock  dis  maw- 
nin'."  She  shook  with  sobs.  The  claim  agent  dropped 
his  own  face  into  his  hands.  The  weary  look  came 
back  again  into  his  eyes.  At  last  he  turned  and  went 
up  to  the  black  woman  where  she  stood  sobbing,  and 
extended  his  hand. 


112  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"There,  there,  auntie,"  he  said,  "I'm  sorry, 
mighty  sorry.  Now,  listen.  I  can't  settle  this  thing 
this  morning.  Here  is  ten  dollars  of  my  own  money 
to  help  bury  the  boy  decently.  As  soon  as  I  can,  I 
will  take  up  the  matter,  and  I  will  settle  it  the  best 
I  can  for  you.  Now,  go  away;  please,  go  away." 

The  negro  woman  ceased  her  sobbing  as  she  took 
the  bill. 

"Ten  dollahs,"  said  she,  "ten  dollahs  for  dat 
baby!  Dat '11  buhy  him  right  fine,  it  sho'  will,  Mr. 
Edd'ron.  You'se  a  fine  man,  Mr.  Edd'ron,  'deed  you 
is." 

Eddring  smiled  bitterly.  He  paced  up  and  down 
the  room,  his  head  bent  down.  Presently  he  turned 
to  his  assistant. 

"Go  on  over  to  the  depot,"  said  he,  "and  see  if 
there  is  any  more  mail.  I  don't  think  I  will  do  any 
letters  just  now." 

Left  alone,  he  continued  to  pace  up  and  down,  until 
at  length  he  heard  steps  and  again  a  knock  at  the 
door,  after  the  custom  in  business  in  that  region.  This 
time  there  entered  the  tall  form  of  his  whilom  friend, 
Colonel  Calvin  Blount,  from  his  plantation  down  the 
road.  Him  he  saluted  right  gladly  and  asked  eagerly 
regarding  his  health. 

"I  am  well,  right  well,"  said  Blount.    "Just  came 


ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  113 

up  to  see  about  a  little  cotton.  It  looks  like  twelve 
cents  before  long." 

"Well,  with  cotton  at  twelve  cents  you  ought  not  to 
have  any  quarrel  with  the  world,  Colonel  Blount." 

"Well,  now,"  replied  Blount,  "I  need  about  every- 
thing I  can  get  to  put  my  place  in  order  again.  It's 
some  months  now  since  we  had  our  little  war  down 
there,  and  I  haven't  got  together  half  the  hands  I 
need  yet.  Some  of  my  people  cleaned  out  and  we 
never  did  hear  anything  more  of  them.  We've  got 
plenty  of  niggers  in  jail  down  there  yet;  but  that 
ain't  the  way  we  want  it.  We  want  'em  to  get  out  of 
jail  and  into  the  fields  at  work.  They'd  rather  stay 
in  jail.  They  get  as  much  to  eat,  and  more  time  to 
rest." 

"Well,  they  did  raise  trouble  that  time,  didn't 
they ? ' '  said  Eddring.  "What  do  you  suppose  started 
them,  Colonel?  Who  was  it  put  them  up  to  do  it?" 
Blount  shook  his  head. 

"That's  the  puzzle,"  said  he.  "It  was  some  one 
with  brains;  and  not  the  kind  of  brains  that  grows 
under  kinky  hair,  either." 

The  two  men  sat  silent  for  a  time.  "Oh,  by  the 
way,"  said  Blount,  at  length,  "I  was  just  going  to 
say  I  brought  up  Mrs.  Ellison  and  Miss  Lady  with 
me  this  morning.  I  left  them  over  at  the  hotel  right 


114  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

now.  Do  you  know,  Eddring,  that  girl  has  grown 
up  to  be  a  plumb  beauty!  She's  handsome  enough 
to  just  scare  you.  Why,  I  never  did  know  there  was 
so  many  young  men  in  this  whole  town  before  that 
were  acquainted  with  me.  Looks  like  she  was  a  public 
menace  to  business  on  the  streets.  Fine  girl.  And 
just  as  good  as  she's  handsome!" 

Eddring  felt  the  blood  surge  up  into  his  face,  but 
he  made  no  comment.  He  knew  that  the  one  unsafe 
thing  for  him  to  do  was  to  see  again  this  same  Miss 
Lady,  and  yet  against  this  decision  all  the  riotous 
blood  of  his  heart  surged  out  in  protest.  He  took  a 
swift  turn  to  the  window. 

"By  Jove,  Colonel,"  he  cried,  "out  there  goes  that 
fellow  Jim  Hargis,  from  over  near  Jewelville.  He's 
got  that  brag  dog  of  his  along." 

"Dog?     What  dog?"  cried  Blount. 

"There,  that's  the  one,"  said  Eddring,  pointing 
out  a  man  passing  by,  who  was  accompanied  by  a 
pepper-and-salt  foxhound.  "Do  you  see  that  dog? 
Well,  Jim  Hargis  says  that's  the  coldest-nosed  hound 
ever  run  a  trail,  and  he's  got  five  hundred  dollars  to 
bet  his  equal  don't  live  in  the  South." 

"Humph,"  sneered  Blount,  "I  reckon  he  never 
did  see  my  old  Hec. ' ' 

"Hec!   Why,  he  says  he'd  make  Hec  look  like  a 


ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  115 

pot-lieker  if  he  ever  got  mixed  up  with  his  dog." 
"What!  My  old  Hec!  Five  hundred  dollars! 
Say,  you  just  holler  to  him,  while  I  run  down  stairs." 
And  away  went  the  irate  Colonel,  his  hands  fumbling 
in  his  pockets. 

Eddring  did  not  stay  to  see  the  result  of  his  strat- 
agem. Instead,  as  he  found  himself  alone,  he  walked 
up  in  front  of  the  little  mirror  which  hung  upon  the 
wall.  He  gazed  straight  into  it,  examining  with 
frowning  face  the  reflection  which  he  witnessed.  He 
ran  a  hand  across  the  gray-tinged  hair,  turned  up  a 
corner  of  the  mustache  with  a  reflective  finger,  man- 
fashion,  and  looked  eagerly,  searchingly,  at  the  face 
which  confronted  him.  It  was  a  face  slightly  lined,  a 
trifle  tired.  He  stood  there  thinking,  questioning  this 
image.  As  he  turned  away  he  sighed. 

The  wind  rustled  the  dingy  curtains  at  the  dingy 
window,  as  he  flung  himself  discontentedly  into  a 
chair.  A  bar  of  sunlight  lay  across  the  floor;  at  the 
window  there  came  the  sound  of  a  song  bird  from  a 
near-by  tree;  but  these  signs  and  sounds  of  an  out- 
door world  John  Eddring  did  not  note.  He  felt 
nothing  but  the  grim  imprisonment  of  these  dusty 
walls.  In  his  soul  was  revolt,  rebellion.  He  smote 
his  hand  hard  upon  the  papers  which  lay  before  him 
on  the  desk. 


116  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

"This,  this,"  he  exclaimed  aloud,  "this  is  all  my 
life !  Good  God !  it  is  to  buy  life,  human  life,  human 
sufferings,  and  to  buy  them  cheap !  I  swear,  I  can  see 
blood  on  every  voucher  that  I  sign !  That's  my  busi- 
ness. I  must  buy  these  things  cheap ;  and  they  say  I 
don't  buy  them  cheap  enough — they  want  me  to  put 
in  my  whole  heart,  and  honor,  and  principles.  Here 
is  my  salary  for  the  month."  He  drew  the  slip  of 
paper  toward  him  and  sat  looking  at  it.  "And  here 
is  the  last  correspondence  from  the  superintendent. 
Complaints,  all  of  it.  Once  I  thought  I  should  suc- 
ceed. Success — yes,  I  have  succeeded — in  being  abso- 
lutely wretched  every  day  of  my  life.  God!  God! 
Is  this  all?" 

He  pushed  the  papers  from  him  and  half  rose, 
leaning  over  the  desk,  resting  on  his  hands. 

"Success,"  he  muttered  again  to  himself.  "What 
is  it?  I  gave  up  the  law  and  I  took  the  salary."  He 
paused  and  sighed.  "At  any  rate,"  he  resumed, 
musing  still  aloud,  "my  old  mother  has  had  a  roof 
over  her  head,  and  has  had  three  meals  a  day.  Well, 
it's  made  me  old.  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  mind,  but 
oh,  damn  everything!  Damn  everything,  I  say!" 
He  scattered  the  papers  with  a  blow  of  his  hand,  and 
whirling,  stood  once  more  before  the  mirror,  which 
seemed  to  have  some  unusual  interest  for  him.  He 


ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  117 

did  not  at  first  hear  the  step  of  the  visitor  who  now 
entered  the  door  and  came  gently  up  behind  him. 

"Confound  you!"  cried  he,  suddenly,  as  at  length 
he  caught  the  footfall.  "What  do  you  mean  by  com- 
ing in  like  that?" 

The  frail  and  gray-haired  lady  who  halted  at  this 
salutation  was  as  much  startled  as  himself.  "Why, 
John ! ' '  said  she.  ' '  Why,  John ! ' ' 

Turning,  Eddring  caught  her  by  the  hand,  his  face 
flushed. 

"Mother!"  he  cried,  "I  thought  it  was  the  clerk." 

"Why,  John,"  repeated  Mrs.  Eddring,  "I  didn't 
know  that  you  ever  swore." 

"I  don't,  mother,  except  sometimes.  The  fact  is — 
well,  to-day  I  just  had  to." 

"You  were  thinking  of  something  else." 

"Well,  yes.  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  was  just  feeling 
pretty  good  over  the  way  business  matters  were  going, 
and — well,  the  truth  is,  I  was  just  a  little — well,  a 
little  exuberant,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Eddring  seated  herself  and  looked  about  her 
at  the  dingy  little  office,  which  ever  seemed  to  her 
poor  housing  for  one  who,  in  her  belief,  was  the  great- 
est man  in  all  the  world. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  John,"  said  she,  "for  intrud- 
ing in  your  business  hours,  but  I  was  down-town  to- 


118  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

day,  and  I  thought  I  would  just  drop  in  to  see  you." 
She  gazed  at  him  keenly,  noting  with  a  mother's  eye 
the  worn  look  on  his  face. 

"I  don't  think  you've  been  looking  well  lately, 
John,"  said  she.  "Does  your  arm  still  trouble  you?" 

"Why,  of  course  not,  it's  all  well.  Why,  I'm  feel- 
ing fine,  fine!  You  and  I  ought  to  be  feeling  well 
these  days,  for  you  know  we  have  just  finished  paying 
for  our  house,  and  everything  is  looking  perfectly 
splendid  all  around.  You  didn't  know  I  had  a  raise 
in  my  salary  last  month,  did  you?"  He  turned  his 
back,  as  he  said  this  last,  that  his  mother  might  not 
discover  on  his  face  so  palpable  a  falsehood. 

' '  Is  that  so,  John  ? "  she  said.  ' '  Why,  I  'm  so  glad ! ' ' 
A  faint  spot  of  color  came  into  the  faded  cheeks,  and 
the  old  eyes  brightened.  "Well,  I'm  sure  you  de- 
served it.  They  couldn't  pay  you  more  than  you're 
worth." 

"No,"  said  Eddring,  grimly,  "they  are  not  apt  to." 
His  mother  caught  no  hidden  meaning,  but  went  on. 

"You're  a  good  business  man,  John,  I  know,"  said 
she,  "and  I  know  you  have  always  been  a  gentleman 
in  your  work."  Here  spoke  the  old  South,  its  pride 
visible  in  the  lift  of  the  white  crowned  head,  and  the 
flash  of  an  eye  not  yet  dimmed  in  spite  of  the  gentle- 
ness of  the  pale,  thin  face. 


ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  119 

Eddring  gulped  a  bit.  "Well,  you  know,  in  busi- 
ness," said  he,  "a  fellow  pretty  near  has  to  choose — " 

"And  you  have  always  chosen  to  be  a  gentleman." 

"As  near  as  I  could,  mother,"  said  he,  gravely. 
"I  have  just  done  the  best  I  could.  Now,  as  I  was 
saying,  I  am  feeling  mighty  fine  to-day.  Everything 
coming  out  so  well — the  truth  is — " 

"John,"  said  his  mother,  sharply,  "why  do  you 
say  'the  fact  is,'  and  'the  truth  is'?  You  don't  usu- 
ally do  that." 

He  did  not  answer,  and  there  went  on  the  subtile 
self-communings  of  the  mother-brain,  exceeding  diffi- 
cult to  lead  astray.  For  the  time  she  did  not  voice 
her  thought,  but  approaching  him,  placed  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  brushed  back  a  lock  of  hair 
from  his  forehead. 

"Pretty  gray,  isn't  it,  mother?"  said  he,  smiling 
at  her. 

"Nonsense!  Is  that  what  you  were  thinking 
about?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I'm  getting — " 

"No,  you're  not!  You  don't  look  a  day  over 
twenty-five. ' ' 

' '  That 's  right.  That 's  right, ' '  said  he,  blithely.  ' '  I 
am  twenty-five,  exactly  twenty-five ;  and  they  're  rais- 


120  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ing  my  salary  right  along.  What '11  it  be  when  I'm 
fifty?" 

"You  ought  to  have  a  new  necktie,  John,"  said  his 
mother,  smoothing  down  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  "A 
rising  man,  like  you,  my  son,  must  always  remember 
little  things." 

' '  That 's  right, ' '  said  he.  ' '  That 's  right.  You  know 
I'm  so  careless.  The  truth  is — " 

"There  you  go  again,  John!  Now  why  are  you  so 
particular  to  tell  me  that  what  you  are  saying  to  me 
is  the  truth?  Just  as  if  you  ever  in  your  life  said 
anything  which  wasn't  true." 

He  did  not  answer,  but  hurriedly  turned  away, 
that  the  keen  eyes  might  not  examine  his  face  too 
closely.  She  followed  him. 

"John,"  said  she,  sharply,  "tell  me,  what's  the 
trouble  ?  Tell  me  the  truth. ' ' 

"I  have,"  said  he.  The  words  choked  him,  and 
she  knew  it.  He  evaded  once  more  the  attack  of  her 
eyes,  but  again  she  followed  him,  her  face  now  very 
pale,  her  lips  trembling. 

"Boy,"  said  she,  "tell  me,  what  is  it?  Is  there  a 
woman?  Is  there  anybody?" 

"Nobody  in  all  the  world  but  you,"  he  declared 
bravely.  It  was  of  no  avail,  and  he  knew  it,  as  the 
keen  eyes  finally  found  his  own. 


ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  121 

"John!"  said  his  mother,  "you  have  not  been  tell- 
ing me  the  truth. ' ' 

"Well,  I  know  it,"  said  he,  calmly,  and  with  far 
greater  happiness.  "Of  course  I  haven't.  Who  said 
I  was?  0,  Lord !  you  can't  fool  a  woman  any  way  on 
earth.  Now  here — " 

"Who  is  this  girl?"  asked  his  mother,  with  a  cer- 
tain sternness  as  she  gazed  at  him  directly;  "for  of 
course  I  knew  very  well  what  was  the  matter.  I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  face  this  some  day,  though  it 
has  been  so  long — " 

Eddring  looked  her  straight  in  the  face  in  return, 
and  this  time  without  flinching. 

"The  dearest  girl  in  the  world,"  said  he.  "But  I 
reckon  she's  not  for  me." 

' '  Who  is  she  ?  Where  is  she  ?  Where  did  you  meet 
her  ?  Have  you  a  picture  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  need  one." 

"What's  her  name — her  family?    Of  course — " 

"She  hasn't  any  family.  I  don't  know  where  she 
came  from." 

"John!" 

"Well,  it's  true." 

"But  you  could  not  expect — " 

"I  expect  nothing!"  cried  he,  again  striking  his 


122  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

clenched  hand  upon  the  table.  "Here  is  my  world. 
Oh,  well,  you  know  now  if  I  ever  swear,  and  why." 

Her  lip  trembled.  "I  never  knew  you  did,"  said 
she.  "John,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  spoken  to  her?" 

"Good  God!  no,  never.  How  could  I?  What  have 
I  to  offer  a  girl  like  her  ?  Who  am  I  ?  What  am  I  ? " 

She  caught  his  head  in  her  arms  and  drew  his  face 
down  to  her  bosom.  ' '  There,  there, ' '  said  she.  ' '  There, 
there,  now." 

But  presently  he  broke  from  her,  and  swung  out 
into  the  room,  erect  and  active  once  more,  a  sudden 
triumph  in  his  carriage,  a  brighter  glance  in  the  eye 
for  a  time  grown  dull. 

"Pshaw!  Here,"  said  he,  "here  I  am,  pitying 
myself!  That  isn't  a  good  thing  for  a  man  to  do. 
A  man  oughtn't  to  complain.  He  ought  to  take  his 
medicine. ' ' 

"Look,"  he  cried,  coming  to  her  again,  "maybe 
the  world  is  just  loving  me,  that's  all,  and  doesn't 
know.  Maybe  it 's  the  same  as  it  was  when  I  scratched 
my  face  on  your  breast-pin  when  I  was  a  baby,  when 
your  arms  were  around  my  neck.  You  did  not  mean 
it.  Maybe  life  does  not  mean  it.  Maybe  it's  just 
loving  us  all  the  time. 

"Come,  now,  you  shall  see  this  girl  who  is  of  no 


ON  ITS  MAJESTY'S  SERVICE  123 

family.  Come  with  me.  She  is  here,  right  in  town, 
this  very  day." 

"Where  is  she,  John?" 

"Why,  Colonel  Blount  told  me  that  she  and  her 
mother  were  over  at  the  hotel.  Could  we  call? 
Wouldn't  it  be  all  right  if  we  did?" 

"If  the  ladies  are  strangers  in  town,"  said  Mrs. 
Eddring,  slowly,  "and  if  they  are  friends  of  yours, 
then  I  will  call  on  them  with  you. ' ' 

"Come!"  said  he,  feverishly.  "Come!" — then 
suddenly:  "Tell  me,  mammy,  does  my  hair  look  so 
awfully  gray  ? ' ' 

"John,"  said  she,  "there  isn't  a  gray  hair  in  it. 
Come  on,  what  are  you  waiting  for?" 

Eddring  had  turned,  and  was  fumbling  at  a  drawer 
in  his  desk.  He  raised  a  face  flushed  and  conscious- 
looking.  "The  fact  is,  mother,  I've  got  a  new  neck- 
tie right  here,  and — and  I  want  to  put  it  on." 


CHAPTER  X 

MISS  LADY  OF  THE  STAIR 

"I  have  always  told  you,  Lady,"  said  Mrs.  Elli- 
son, "how  a  girl  who  hasn't  any  fortune  can  best 
achieve  things.  Of  course,  it's  a  question  of  a  man. 
When  she  has  found  the  man,  it  rests  with  her.  She 
must  let  herself  out  and  yet  keep  herself  in  hand. 
Emotion,  but  not  too  much,  and  at  the  right  time— 
that's  the  scheme  for  a  girl  who  wants  to  succeed." 

"How  you  preach,  mamma!"  said  Miss  Lady,  petu- 
lantly. "You  are  always  talking  to  me  about  the  men. 
As  if  I  cared  a  straw!" 

"You  ought  to  care,  Lady.  Men!  Why,  there's 
nothing  in  the  world  for  a  woman  except  the  men." 

Miss  Lady  said  nothing,  but  went  on  adjusting  a 
pin  which  she  took  from  among  several  others  held 
in  her  mouth.  At  length  she  patted  down  her  gown, 
and  frowned  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  as  she  looked 
down  over  her  long  and  adequate  curves.  Discover- 
ing a  wrinkle  in  the  skirt  of  her  gown,  she  smoothed  it 
out  deftly  with  both  hands. 

"There  are  not  very  many   gentlemen   to   bother 
124 


MISS  LADY  OF  THE  STAIR  125 

about  down  at  the  Big  House  now,  mamma, ' '  said  she ; 
"at  least,  not  since  Mr.  Decherd  left.  But  then,  he's 
coming  back.  Did  you  know  that?" 

Mrs.  Ellison's  face  showed  a  swift  gleam  of  satis- 
faction. "I  hope  he  will,"  said  she.  "But,  after  all, 
we  must  sometime  go  somewhere  else.  Now,  New 
Orleans,  or  New  York  perhaps.  You  are  almost  pretty 
sometimes,  Lady.  We  could  do  things  with  you,  in  the 
right  place. ' ' 

Miss  Lady  stamped  her  foot  upon  the  floor  in  sud- 
den fury.  "Mamma,"  cried  she,  "when  you  talk  this 
way  I  fairly  hate  you!" 

"You  talk  like  all  the  foolish  Ellisons,"  said  the 
other,  slowly.  "Now,  I  could  tell  you  things,  when 
the  time  came.  But,  meantime,  you  forget  that  you 
and  I  have  absolutely  no  resources." 

"Excepting  me!"    This  with  white  scorn. 

"Excepting  you."    This  with  frank  cynicism. 

Miss  Lady  controlled  herself  with  difficulty.  "At 
least,"  said  she,  "we  have  a  home  with  Colonel 
Blount.  He  has  always  said  he  wanted  us  to  stay, 
and  that  he  couldn't  do  without  us.  Now" — and 
she  laughed  gaily— "if  Colonel  Blount  didn't  have  a 
red  mustache,  I  might  marry  him,  mightn't  I?" 

"Be  done  with  such  talk,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison, 
sharply.  "You'd  much  better  think  about  Mr. 


126  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

Decherd.  And  yet," — she  frowned  and  nervously  bit 
her  finger-tips  as  she  turned  away.  Miss  Lady  made 
no  answer  except  to  go  over  again  to  stand  before  the 
mirror,  where  she  executed  certain  further  pattings 
and  smoothings  of  her  apparel. 

The  two  were  occupied,  in  these  somewhat  dingy 
quarters  in  the  hotel,  in  preparing  for  their  sallying 
out  upon  a  shopping  expedition  in  the  city,  an  event 
of  a  certain  interest  to  plantation  dwellers.  Mrs. 
Ellison  paused  in  her  own  operations  to  extract  from 
a  hand-bag  a  flask,  wherefrom  she  helped  herself  to  a 
generous  draft.  Miss  Lady  caught  the  flask  from 
her. 

"You  disgust  me,  mamma,"  said  she.  "How  often 
have  I  told  you!" 

"You  were  not  quick  enough,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Ellison,  calmly.  "Now,  I  was  saying  that  you  were 
born  for  lace  and  satins.  Promise  me,  Lady,  no 
matter  what  happens,  that  if  you  ever  get  them,  you 
will  give  me  a  few  things  for  myself,  won't  you? 
Sometimes — sometimes  I  am  not  certain. ' '  She  smiled 
as  she  spoke.  There  might  have  been  politic  over- 
ture, or  beseeching,  or  threat,  or  deadly  sarcasm  in 
her  speech.  Miss  Lady  could  not  tell;  and  it  had 
taken,  indeed,  a  keen  student  to  define  the  real  mean- 
ing of  the  enigmatical  face  of  Alice  Ellison,  woman 


MISS  LADY  OF  THE  STAIR  127 

not  yet  forty,  ease-loving,  sensuous,  yet  for  this 
time  almost  timorous. 

"Now,  a  good,  liberal  man,"  began  Mrs.  Ellison 
presently,  however,  "is  the  best  ambition  for  any 
young  woman.  For  some  reasons,  we  might  do  better 
than  remain  at  the  Big  House  longer.  We  will  see, 
my  dear,  we'll  see."  And  so  they  stepped  out  into 
the  hall. 

It  was  a  vision  when  Miss  Lady  came  down  the 
stair.  Young  men  who  saw  her  removed  their  hats, 
and  old  men  thanked  God  that  the  day  of  miracles 
was  not  gone;  so  fair  was  Miss  Lady  as,  with  head 
high,  and  body  slow  and  stately  beyond  her  years, 
and  foot  light  and  firm,  she  came  down  the  little 
stairway,  and  glorified  it  with  youth  and  the  spirit  of 
the  morning. 

Miss  Lady  had  indeed,  within  the  last  few  months, 
rapidly  grown  up  into  compellingly  beautiful  young 
womanhood.  Much  of  the  girlishness  was  gone  and 
the  firmer  roundness  of  full  femininity  had  taken  its 
place.  Her  neck,  a  column  of  white  above  its  frill 
of  laces,  rose  strong  and  fine.  Her  hair,  unlighted 
by  the  sun,  was  dark  and  full  of  velvet  shadows. 
Her  eyes,  with  long  lashes  softly  falling,  offered  the 
shadows  and  the  mysteries  of  the  dawn.  Her  figure 
asked  small  aid,  and,  needing  none,  carried,  and  was 


128  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

not  made  by,  the  well-cut  gown  of  light  silken  weave, 
dotted  here  and  there  with  small  red  fleur-de-lis.  A 
maze  of  long  scarlet  ribbons  hung  from  Miss  Lady's 
waist,  after  a  fashion  of  her  own,  and  for  purposes 
perhaps  remotely  connected  with  a  tiny  fan  which 
now  appeared,  and  now  again  was  lost.  A  cool,  sweet 
ripeness  was  reflected  in  the  spot  of  color  here  and 
there  upon  the  fawn-colored  wide  brim  of  the  hat, 
upon  the  smooth  cheek,  on  the  lips  of  the  short  and 
high  curved  mouth.  As  she  walked,  there  was  heard 
the  whispering  rustle  of  the  Feminine;  that  sound 
indefinable,  which  creeps  upon  man's  unwitting  senses 
and  enslaves  him,  he  knows  not  how  or  when  or  why. 

Well  enough  all  this  served  to  set  in  tumult  the 
pulses  of  at  least  one  who  saw  Miss  Lady,  fresh  as  a 
little  white  cloud,  warm  as  a  tiny  spot  of  yellow  sun- 
light, cool  and  mysterious  as  the  morning,  thus 
framed  as  a  picture  on  the  stair. 

John  Eddring  and  his  mother,  unannounced  by 
reason  of  the  slothfulness  of  a  negro  messenger,  sat 
in  the  hotel  waiting-room,  which  served  as  the  "ladies' 
parlor,"  opening  out  near  the  foot  of  the  stairway. 
And  so  it  chanced  that  they  saw  Miss  Lady  and  her 
companion  as  they  descended.  It  seemed  to  Eddring 
that  this  vision  on  the  stair  was  the  most  beautiful 
thing  in  all  the  world.  He  was  smitten  at  once  dumb 


MISS  LADY  OF  THE  STAIR  129 

and  motionless.  He  felt  his  mother's  hand  on  his 
arm. 

' '  John, ' '  said  she,  ' '  did  you  see  that  girl  ?  She  was 
perfectly  beautiful!"  The  touch  aroused  him.  She 
saw  it  all  written  in  his  face. 

"She?"  he  murmured.  "Miss  Lady!"  and  pres- 
ently sprang  after,  to  return  a  moment  later  with 
the  two  ere  they  had  left  the  hall.  Whereupon  fol- 
lowed all  manner  of  helpless,  hopeless,  banal  and  in- 
adequate commonplaces,  out  of  which  Eddring 
blankly  remembered  only  that  the  visit  of  Miss  Lady 
to  the  city  was  to  terminate  that  evening,  at  the  de- 
parture of  the  down  train.  And  so,  after  all,  little 
remained  for  him  but  a  present  parting,  though  all 
his  soul  cried  out  for  speech  with  Miss  Lady  alone, 
for  the  sight  of  her  face  only.  It  was  as  though 
within  the  moment  all  the  energies  of  his  life  had 
been  directed  into  a  new  channel,  whose  insufficient 
walls  were  threatened  with  destruction  by  the  flood- 
ing torrent.  The  primeval  man  arose,  exulting,  sure ; 
and  so,  in  a  moment,  John  Eddring  knew  why  the 
world  was  made,  and  by  what  tremendous  enginery 
of  imperious  desire  it  is  driven  on  its  way.  Work, 
riches,  art,  music,  architecture,  the  vast  industrialism 
of  an  age,  all  this  thing  called  progress — all,  all  were 
for  this  alone,  this  thing  of  love!  The  atmosphere 


130  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

about  him  thrilled,  vibrant  with  this  message  of  the 
universe.  The  interspaces  of  all  things  seemed  lam- 
bent, and  therein  fixed  centrally  was  this  ineffaceable 
and  ineffable  picture.  He  gazed,  and  as  he  gazed 
there  came  to  him  but  one  thought:  For  ever. 

"John,"  said  Mrs.  Eddring,  when  they  were  again 
alone,  "that's  a  sweet  girl,  a  very  sweet  girl.  Did  you 
notice  how  she  thanked  me — as  being  the  elder  lady, 
you  know — for  our  call?  I  think — "  Eddring 
started,  only  half-hearing  her. 

"But  that  lady,  her  mother,"  went  on  Mrs.  Ed- 
dring, ' '  I  can 't  tell,  yet  for  some  reason  I  do  not  fully 
understand  her.  But — "  and  here  she  gained  convic- 
tion, "you  need  not  tell  me!  There  is  family  some- 
where back  of  that  girl,  my  son.  She's  good  enough. 
She's—" 

"Good  enough!"  cried  John  Eddring.  "Good 
enough !  What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"Ah,  my  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Eddring,  sighing,  "I 
know.  I  presume,  I  hope,  that  you  feel  quite  as  the 
general  did,  when  I  was  a  girl.  Sometimes  I  have 
thought  the  world  was  changing  in  such  matters.  1 
shall  want  to  see  this  young  lady  again,  and  often. 
We  must  inquire — but  here  I  am,  talking  with  you, 
when  of  course  you  must  be  back  at  your  work.  I'll 
leave  you  now." 

' '  Work ! ' '  cried  John  Eddring.    ' '  Work ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XI. 

COLONEL  CALVIN  BLOUNT'S  PROPOSAL. 

The  mild  winter  of  the  Delta  region  wore  itself 
gradually  away,  and  now  again  the  sun  was 
high  in  the  mid-arc  of  the  sky,  glowing  so  warm  that 
the  earth,  rich  and  teeming,  seemed  once  more  to 
quiver  under  its  ardor.  The  sloth  of  ease  and  com- 
fort was  in  the  air.  The  big  bees  droned  among  the 
flowers  at  the  lattice,  and  out  in  the  glaring  sunlight 
the  lusty  cocks  led  their  bands  betimes,  crowing  each 
his  loud  defiance.  In  the  pastures,  under  the  wide- 
armed  oaks,  the  cattle  and  horses  stood  dozing.  Life 
on  the  old  plantation  seemed,  after  all,  to  have  set 
on  again  much  in  its  former  quiet  channels.  If  within 
the  year  there  had  been  insubordination,  violence, 
death  hereabout,  the  scene  no  longer  showed  it.  The 
Delta,  less  than  a  quarter  white,  more  than  three-quar- 
ters black,  was  once  more  at  rest,  and  waiting. 

This  was  the  scene  over  which  Miss  Lady  looked 
out  one  day  as  she  sat  in  a  big  rocking-chair  in  the 
shade,  in  a  favorite  spot  of  the  wide  gallery,  feeling 
dreamily,  if  not  definitely,  the  spirit  of  the  idle  land- 

131 


132  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

scape  which  lay  shimmering  in  the  sun.  Her  gaze 
gained  directness  and  comprehension  at  last. 

This,  thought  Miss  Lady,  was  the  world!  It  was 
all  the  world  for  her.  This,  so  far  as  she  could  see, 
was  to  be  her  fate— to  sit  and  look  out  over  the  wide 
reaches  of  the  cotton  fields,  to  hear  the  negroes  sing 
their  melodies,  to  watch  the  lazy  life  of  an  inland 
farm.  This  was  to  be  the  boundary  of  her  world, 
this  white  and  black  rim  of  the  forest  hedging  all 
about.  This  lattice  was  to  shut  in  her  life  for  ever. 
She  might  meet  no  white  woman  but  her  mother,  no 
white  man.  Things  were  not  quite  clear  to  Miss 
Lady's  mind  to-day.  She  sank  back  in  the  chair,  and 
all  the  world  again  seemed  vague,  confused,  shim- 
mering, like  this  scene  over  which  she  gazed.  She 
sighed,  her  foot  tapping  at  the  gallery  floor.  Some- 
times it  seemed  to  Miss  Lady  that  she  must  break 
out  into  cries  of  impatience,  that  she  must  fly,  that 
she  must  indeed  seek  out  a  wider  world.  What  was 
that  world,  she  wondered,  the  world  out  there  be- 
yond the  rim  of  the  ancient  forest  that  hedged  her 
in?  What  did  it  hold  for  a  girl?  Was  there  life  in 
it  ?  Was  there  love  in  it  ?  Was  there  answer  in  it  ? 

The  old  bear-dog,  Hec,  came  around  the  corner  of 
the  house  from  his  napping  in  the  shade,  and  sat 
looking  up  in  adoration  at  his  divinity,  inquiring 


COLONEL  BLOUNT'S  PROPOSAL   133 

mutely  whether  that  divinity  would  permit  a  com- 
mon warrior  like  himself  to  come  and  kiss  her  hand. 
She  saw  him  finally  and  extended  one  hand  idly;  at 
which  Hec  dropped  his  ears,  wagged  his  tail  uncer- 
tainly, and  came  on  slowly  up  the  stair.  He  nozzled 
his  head  tentatively  against  her  knee ;  and  so,  receiv- 
ing sanction,  went  into  delighted  waggings,  licking 
tenderly  the  soft  white  hand  which  stroked  his  head. 

"Oh,  Hec,  dear  old  Hec,"  said  Miss  Lady,  "I  am 
so  lonesome ! ' '  And  Hec,  understanding  vaguely  that 
all  was  not  quite  well  with  his  divinity,  uplifted  his 
voice  in  deep  regret.  "I  am  so  lonesome,"  repeated 
Miss  Lady,  softly,  to  herself. 

A  step  on  the  gallery  caused  her  to  turn.  Colonel 
Blount  crossed  the  length  of  the  gallery  and  paused 
at  her  side.  "Miss  Lady,"  said  he,  "you  just  liter- 
ally honey  my  b'ah-dogs  up  so  all  the  time,  that  after 
a  while  I'll  be  ashamed  to  call  the  pack  my  own. 
I'm  almost  afraid  now  to  take  them  out  hunting,  for 
fear  some  of  them  will  get  hurt;  and  you  always 
make  such  a  fuss  about  it." 

"You  get  them  all  bitten  and  cut  up,"  said  Miss 
Lady.  "How  do  you  think  that  feels?" 

"I  know  how  it  feels,"  said  Blount,  slowly.  "As 
to  dogs,  I  think  there  are  times  when  it's  a  sort  of  re- 
lief to  them.  You  can't  change  the  way  the  world  is 


134  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

made,  Miss  Lady.  How'd  you  like  to  sit  here  for  ever 
and  never  get  a  chance  to  see  anything  outside  of  this 
here  yard?" 

Unconsciously,  he  had  come  close  to  a  certain  mark. 
"I  should  die,"  said  Miss  Lady,  simply.  "I  was 
just  thinking—" 

"What  were  you  thinking?"  said  Blount,  suddenly. 

"I  don't  blame  Hec,  after  all.  I  should  die  if  I 
had  to  stay  here  for  ever,  with  just  nothing  to  do — 
nothing— nobody  — ' ' 

Blount  suddenly  pulled  up  his  chair  and  sat  down 
close  at  hand. 

"Tell  me,  Miss  Lady,  what  do  you  mean?"  said  he. 
"Tell  me,  child.  Ain't  you  happy  here?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know." 

"Yes,  you  do  know;  and  I  asked  you  if  you  weren't 
happy." 

"Maybe  you  don't  understand  all  about  girls,  Col- 
onel Calvin,"  said  Miss  Lady. 

' '  I  don 't  reckon  I  do.  I  don 't  reckon  God  A  'mighty 
does,  either,  hardly.  I  thought  you  and  your  mother 
were  contented  here.  You've  made  it  a  sort  of  heaven 
for  me.  I  'lowed  it  would  run  along  for  ever  that- 
away. ' ' 

Silence  fell  between  them.  "Miss  Lady,"  said 
Blount,  finally,  "I  came  out  here  this  morning  on 


COLONEL  BLOUNT'S  PROPOSAL   135 

purpose  to  hunt  you  up.  Now,  listen.  You  say  you're 
not  happy  here.  I  have  been  nothing  but  happy  ever 
since  you  came.  For  a  long  time  I  didn't  know  why. 
I  didn't  know  why  I  kept  on  asking  where  was  Miss 
Lady  at,  where  was  Miss  Lady  gone  to.  'Now,  where  is 
Miss  Lady?'  I  found  myself  asking  this  very  morn- 
ing. About  an  hour  ago  I  found  myself  asking  that 
mighty  strong.  Then  I  just  set  myself  down,  right 
out  there  on  the  board-pile,  and  done  reasoned  it  all 
out.  Then  I  found  out  why  I  was  asking  that  ques- 
tion so  much.  I  found  out  why  I  never  did  get  mar- 
ried, Miss  Lady.  The  reason  was,  I  never  wanted  to, 
till  now." 

Miss  Lady  was  looking  far  away  now,  out  across 
the  fields.  Her  face  was  pale,  save  for  a  small  red 
spot  in  either  cheek.  She  moved  as  though  she  would 
have  turned  to  face  this  man  whose  eyes  she  felt,  yet 
this  she  was  unable  to  do.  She  heard  the  voice  go 
on,  softer  than  she  had  ever  known  it  before. 

"Miss  Lady,"  said  Calvin  Blount,  "now  listen  to 
me.  I've  grown  up  down  here  like  any  savage.  I 
haven't  been  much  better  than  my  old  daddy,  nor 
much  different;  and  every  man  ought  to  grow  better 
than  his  dad,  if  he  can.  I  have  driven  the  niggers 
to  work,  and  I  have  been  comfortable  on  what  they 
raised.  I  can  see  it's  right  rough  down  here, 


136  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

though  I  never  used  to  think  so.  All  I  wanted  in  the 
world  was  rain  enough  to  make  the  cotton  sure,  and 
mast  enough  to  make  the  b'ahs  come.  I  was  happy, 
or  thought  I  was,  until  you  came,  though  I  reckon  I 
never  really  knew  what  that  word  meant  before.  I 
never  did  see  a  woman  I  liked  as  well  as  my  pack  of 
dogs.  This  place  was  good  enough  for  me.  Now,  lis- 
ten. I  was  fool  enough  to  think  for  one  minute,  Miss 
Lady,  for  just  one  minute,  that  it  was  good  enough 
for  you.  I  thought  maybe  you  and  I  could  under- 
stand a  heap  of  things  together.  Now,  I  hear  you 
say  that  you're  lonesome,  that  you're  not  happy  here. 
Happy  ?  Why,  I  tell  you,  Miss  Lady,  I  am  half -dying 
of  lonesomeness  right  now,  right  here  in  my  own 
home,  on  my  own  ground,  in  the  only  place  in  God 
A 'mighty 's  world  where  I  am  fit  to  live." 

"You  must  not,"  said  Miss  Lady,  and  turned  to- 
ward him  eyes  in  which  stood  sudden  tears.  ' '  I  must 
go.  I  must  go  away." 

"Listen,  I  tell  you,"  said  Blount  again,  sternly, 
and  put  out  a  hand  as  she  would  have  risen.  "You 
go  away?  Where  would  you  go?  What  would  you 
do?  Now,  wait  till  I  get  done.  Here,"  he  cried  al- 
most savagely,  "stand  up  here  like  I  tell  you,  and 
listen  to  what  I've  got  to  say!  Stand  right  there!" 
He  drew  in  one  grasp  from  his  pocket  his  handker- 


COLONEL  BLOUNT'S  PROPOSAL    137 

chief  and  his  gauntlet  gloves,  and  swept  a  place  clean 
upon  the  gallery  floor  before  her. 

"Stand  right  there,  Miss  Lady,"  said  he,  with  all 
his  old  imperiousness.  "Stand  in  that  place  where  I 
done  made  it  clean  and  easy  for  you,  like  I  want  to 
make  the  whole  world  clean  and  easy  for  you  always. 
I  'd  like  to  smooth  it  that-away  for  you,  always.  Now, 
look  at  me,  Miss  Lady.  I  ain't  a  coward,  at  least  I 
never  was  till  now,  and  maybe  not  now;  for  I  came 
here  as  soon  as  I  knew  how  this  thing  was,  though  God 
knows  I  wanted  to  get  on  my  horse  and  ride  the  other 
way  as  fast  as  I  could.  I  came  here  because  I  wouldn't 
have  been  a  man  if  I  hadn't  come,  if  I  hadn't  said  this 
to  the  first  woman  I  ever  thought  twice  about." 

"Don't,  don't,  please!  please!"  cried  Miss  Lady, 
pushing  out  her  hands,  but  he  commanded  her  again, 
sternly. 

"Stop,"  said  he.  "There's  one  time  when  a  man 
has  a  right  to  say  his  say,  and  say  it  all.  I've  got 
to  tell  you  this.  I've  got  to  offer  myself  to  you  in 
marriage,  Miss  Lady.  I've  got  to  ask  that  of  you; 
and,  God  pity  me,  I've  got  to  give  myself  my  own 
answer.  Listen!  Stop!  It  ain't  for  you  to  answer. 
It's  for  me. 

"Now,  look  at  me.  I'm  strong.  I'm  not  afraid  of 
any  living  thing,  except  you.  I'm  old,  but  there's 


138  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

younger  men  that's  no  better.  I'm  rich  enough.  I've 
got  two  thousand  acres  of  the  best  land  in  the  Delta, 
and  that's  the  best  on  earth.  There's  money  enough 
here  to  take  you  anywhere  you  want  to  go  in  all  the 
world.  I  couldn  't  be  mean  to  no  woman.  It 's  in  my 
nature  to  feel  that  a  woman  is  a  thing  to  be  took  care 
of,  for  ever  and  for  ever — that  oughtn't  to  work,  that 
oughtn't  to  worry,  that  ought  to  just  J)e!  I  don't 
know  much  about  women,  but  I  always  did  feel  that- 
away.  You'd  never  have  to  worry  about  that.  I 
wouldn't  lie  to  you,  not  for  any  reason.  No  man 
should  ever  raise  a  breath  against  you.  If" — he 
swept  a  hand  over  his  face,  but  still  went  on. 

"Listen,"  he  said,  "Miss  Lady  Ellison,  I,  Calvin 
Blount,  old  Calvin  Blount,  this  sort  of  man  like  I  told 
you,  I  offer  myself  to  you,  and  all  I  have,  for  your 
own.  I  offer  you  that — "  The  girl's  eyes  looked  up 
at  him,  swimming  now  all  the  more  in  tears.  His  face 
was  distorted,  but  he  went  on.  "Don't,"  said  he, 
"please  don't!  Listen,  here's  the  answer.  By  the 
Eternal,  you  can't  and  you  shan't  marry  old  Cal 
Blount!  It  wouldn't  be  right.  It  wouldn't  be  right, 
Miss  Lady, ' '  said  he  again,  presently.  "  It 's  right  for 
me  to  tell  you  that  I  never  thought  twice  of  any  other 
woman,  that  in  my  soul  I  love  you,  that  I  never  shall 
know  a  happy  day  without  you;  but  it's  right,  too,  for 


COLONEL  BLOUNT'S  PROPOSAL   139 

me  to  give  myself  the  answer,  and  I  do.  And  it's  No, 
Miss  Lady,  it's  No!"  He  turned  away.  Miss  Lady 
felt  about  her  blindly  and  dropped  her  head  on  the 
rail  of  the  chair,  sobbing. 

"I  can't  help  it.  I  can't  help  things,  Colonel  Cal," 
said  she,  "but  then,  but  then — " 

"Yes,  child;  yes,  Miss  Lady,"  said  Calvin  Blount, 
gently,  ' '  but  then,  but  then !  I  never  did  know  much, 
but  I'm  learnin'.  I'm  man  enough  now  to  know  all 
about  what  you  mean  when  you  say  '  but  then. '  Come, 
it 's  all  over.  But  I  can 't  bear  to  see  you  cry.  Please 
stop,  Miss  Lady.  Don't  do  that." 

Miss  Lady  could  not  stop.  She  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands.  She  half  felt  the  touch  of  a  hand,  very 
light,  upon  her  head,  a  touch  given  but  once,  and 
swiftly  withdrawn.  She  heard  him  continue.  "This 
home  is  yours, ' '  said  he,  ' '  and  you  can  stay  here.  I  '11 
go  out  into  the  woods  again.  You  need  not  fret  and 
you  need  not  fear.  We  couldn't,  maybe,  both  stay 
here  together  now.  Or,  it  may  be  there's  a  bigger 
world  for  you  somewhere,  and  you  want  to  go  there. 
I  won't  stand  in  your  way,  and  I'll  help  you  all  I  can. 
I'm  done  talking  about  this,  now  and  for  ever.  But 
if  you  don't  stop  crying,  I'll  get  on  my  horse  right 
now,  and  I'll  ride  out  in  the  woods  and  I  never  will 
come  back  again." 


140  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Miss  Lady  put  out  her  hand  to  him. 

"Sir,"  said  she,  half -whispering,  "I  didn't  know 
that  men  were  this  way.  It's  different  from  what  I 
thought.  But  you  must  remember,"  and  she  smiled 
wanly,  "you  must  remember  always  only  that  it  was 
you  who  refused  yourself.  Please  think  of  it  that 
way,  Mr.  Cal." 

Old  Hec  ventured  up  the  steps  again  and  stood 
looking  dumbly  from  one  to  the  other  of  these  two. 
At  last  he  deserted  his  master  and  went  over  and 
laid  his  big  head  on  Miss  Lady's  lap,  looking  up  at 
her  with  questioning  eyes. 


"SHE  HALF  FELT  THE  TOUCH  OF  A  HAND,  VERY  LIGHT,  UPON  HER  HEAD." 

/.   139 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  WOMAN  SCORNED 

As  Colonel  Blount  passed  from  the  gallery  into 
the  house  he  came  under  the  gaze  of  a  close  observer. 
Mrs.  Ellison,  for  reasons  of  her  own  watchful  and 
suspicious,  had  heard  these  agitated  voices  on  the  gal- 
lery, and,  had  it  been  possible  without  detection, 
would  not  have  been  in  the  least  above  eavesdrop- 
ping. This  being  impossible,  she  was  forced  to  draw 
her  own  conclusions,  based  in  part  upon  her  own 
suspicions.  The  droop  of  this  man's  shoulders,  the 
drawn  look  of  his  face,  spoke  plainly  enough  for 
her.  Hardly  had  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  died  away 
before  she  was  out  of  the  door  of  her  room  and  by 
the  side  of  Miss  Lady,  who  still  sat,  pensive  and  down- 
cast, in  her  rocking-chair  on  the  gallery. 

Miss  Lady  was  not  prepared  for  the  spectacle  which 
thus  met  her  gaze,  this  woman  with  clenched  hands 
and  distorted  face,  and  attitude  which  spoke  only  of 
antagonism  and  threat.  There  came  a  swift  catch 
at  her  heart,  for  this  was  the  woman  to  whom  of 

natural  right  she  should  now  have  fled  in  search  of 

141 


142  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

consolation.  It  seemed  to  her  now  as  though  all 
her  world  had  known  a  sudden  change.  It  was 
as  when  some  tender  creature,  fresh  risen  from 
the  earth,  ventures  into  the  strange,  new  world  of 
the  air,  to  flutter  its  brief  day.  Eternity  seems  to 
stretch  before  it,  an  eternity  of  joy  hinted  in  the  first 
glance  at  this  new  universe  which  it  attains.  Yet 
comes  the  sun,  the  sudden,  blighting  sun,  the  same 
influence  which  has  broken  the  brooding  envelope  of 
another  world  and  brought  this  gentle  being  into  its 
new  life,  and  this  cruel  sun  withers  at  once  the  ten- 
der creature  in  all  its  hope  and  youthfulness  and 
beauty,  ending  its  bright  day  ere  it  as  yet  is  noon. 
Thus  seemed  the  universe  to  Miss  Lady,  no  longer 
young,  care-free,  joyous,  but  now  suddenly  grown  old. 
One  look,  one  sudden  flash  of  her  inner  comprehension, 
and  she  knew  it  to  be  for  ever  established  that  this 
woman,  her  mother,  was  her  mother  no  more !  Why, 
she  knew  not,  yet  this  was  sure,  she  was  not  her 
mother,  but  her  enemy.  How  dubiously  swam  all  the 
world  about  poor  Miss  Lady  at  that  instant!  She 
knew,  even  before  the  enraged  woman  at  her  side  had 
formulated  her  emotion  into  speech. 

' '  So  now,  you  treacherous  little  cat, ' '  said  Mrs.  Elli- 
son, between  her  shut  teeth,  "you've  been  at  work, 
have  you?  Oh,  I  might  have  known  it  all  along. 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED  143 

You've  been  trying  to  undermine  me,  have  you?  Why, 
do  you  think  I'll  let  a  little  minx,  a  little  half-baked 
brat  like  you,  keep  me  out  of  getting  the  man  I  want  ? 
I  '11  show  you,  Miss  Lady  girl ! ' ' 

' '  Stop !  Wait !  What  are  you  saying  1 ' '  cried  Miss 
Lady. 

"You'll  listen  to  what  I  am  saying,"  cried  Mrs. 
Ellison.  "You've  been  leading  him  on,  and  now  you 
presume  to  reject  him — to  reject  the  roof  over  your 
head  and  the  bread  in  your  mouth.  Why,  I  never 
thought  of  him  seriously  for  you!  You've  ruined  us 
both  in  every  way,  yourself  and  me.  Why,  can't  you 
see  that  if  we  stayed  here  he  had  to  be  for  one  or  the 
other  of  us  ?  And  could  you  not  know  that  I  wanted 
him  for  myself?  Oh,  don't  say  'wait'— don't  speak 
to  me !  I  know  it  all  as  well  as  if  I  had  seen  it.  Now, 
you've  got  to  walk,  that's  all." 

"Oh,  mamma,  mamma,"  cried  Miss  Lady,  "do 
not!" 

' '  '  Oh,  mamma,  mamma ! '  ' '  mocked  the  other ; 
' '  stop  your  tongue,  girl,  and  don 't  you  dare  to  call  me 
'mamma'  again.  I  am  not  your  mother,  and  never 
was!" 

Miss  Lady  gasped  and  went  pale,  but  the  cruel 
voice  went  on.  "You  don't  know  what  you  are,  or 
who  you  are.  You're  nothing,  you're  nobody!  You 


144  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

had  no  chance  except  what  I  could  give  you,  and  you'll 
never  know  now  what  a  chance  that  was!  I  would 
have  made  you,  girl.  I  would  have  done  something 
with  you,  something  for  us  both— but  not  now,  ah, 
no,  not  now !  You,  to  cut  me  out  from  the  only  man  I 
ever  really  did  want ! ' ' 

Miss  Lady  rose,  suddenly  aflame  with  resentment, 
and  feeling  a  courage  which  came  she  knew  not 
whence. 

"Madam,"  said  she,  with  calmness  in  spite  of  her 
anger,  "I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  this,  but  I 
am  certain  you  are  telling  the  truth.  I  will  not  talk  to 
you  at  all.  You  degrade  us  both.  As  to  Colonel 
Blount,  I  never  said  a  word,  I  never  did  the  first 
thing — I  didn't — I  didn't  tell  him  anything — I  could 
not  help — " 

"You  could  not  help!  You  could  not  help!  Of 
course  you  could  not  help !  Neither  can  I  help.  But 
the  main  thing,  after  all,  is  that  you  have  thrown 
away  a  home  for  both  of  us — " 

"Madam,"  said  Miss  Lady,  now  very  quiet  and 
calm,  ' '  there  is  only  one  thing  certain  in  all  the  world 
to  me  at  this  moment,  and  that  is  that  you  do  not  love 
me,  that  you  never  will,  and  that  I  don't  feel  toward 
you  as  I  should.  It  is  as  you  say.  I  could  not  stay 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED  145 

here  now;  I  shall  have  to  go  somewhere.  Colonel 
Blount  himself  knows  that.  He  said  so." 

"Your  mother!"  resumed  Mrs.  Ellison,  laughing 
shrilly,  ''I  am  about  as  much  your  mother" — she  be- 
gan, but  caught  herself  up;  "you  are  nobody,  I  say, 
and  you  '11  have  to  go  take  care  of  yourself  as  best  you 
can.  You  don't  know  what  you're  throwing  away, 
young  woman.  If  you  had  left  things  to  me  there 
would  have  been  none  of  this  trouble.  Now  I  shall 
have  to  go  too,  for  I  would  die  rather  than  stay  here 
now.  I  hate  that  man !" 

Miss  Lady  for  a  moment  saw  the  naked  soul  of  this 
woman  whom  she  had  called  her  mother,  even  as  at 
that  moment  she  saw  her  own  soul;  and  between  this 
which  she  saw  and  that  which  remained  in  her  own 
bosom,  she  recognized  no  kinship.  Problems  there 
were  for  her,  but  this  was  not  one  of  them. 

"Madam,"  said  she  at  length,  with  a  dignity  be- 
yond her  years,  "you  are  right.  We  must  go,  both 
of  us;  but  we  shall  not  go  together." 

She  turned  to  leave  the  gallery,  and  as  she  passed, 
gazed  straight  into  the  face  of  Mrs.  Ellison.  She  saw 
there  a  swift  change.  The  red  rage,  the  anger,  the 
jealousy  were  gone.  Haggard,  with  eyes  shifting  as 
though  in  search  of  refuge,  the  woman  showed  now 
nothing  so  much  as  a  pale  terror !  Miss  Lady  uncon- 


146  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

sciously  followed  her  gaze.  There,  near  a  door  at 
the  farther  end  of  the  gallery,  quiet,  impassive,  stood 
the  girl  Delphine.  She  did  not  speak,  but  gazed  at 
Mrs.  Ellison  with  eyes  wherein  there  might  have  been 
seen  a  certain  somber  fire. 

"I— I  did  not  call,  Delphine,"  stammered  Mrs.  Elli- 
son. "No,  no,  I  did  not  call." 

Silent  as  before,  Delphine  turned  back.  "With  swift 
intuition  Miss  Lady  caught  the  conviction  that  some 
relationship  existed  between  these  two  which  she  her- 
self did  not  understand.  A  sudden  sense  of  inse- 
curity possessed  her,  mingled  with  the  reflection  that 
the  master  of  the  Big  House  was  ignorant  of  what 
arrested  drama  was  here  going  on  under  his  own  roof. 
If  she  dared  but  tell  the  master  what  she  suspected — 
ah!  then  perhaps  this  comfortable  landscape,  which 
but  lately  she  had  found  monotonous,  might  again  en- 
fold her  sweetly  and  safely;  and  never  again  would 
she  call  it  aught  but  satisfying.  Yet  every  instinct 
told  her  that  to  the  master  of  the  Big  House  she  could 
go  no  more.  Thus  she  pondered,  and  as  she  pondered 
her  panic  fear  increased  to  a  blind  terror,  overwhelm- 
ing every  other  emotion.  But  one  resolve  remained — 
as  soon  as  might  be,  she  must  fly,  and  find  a  hiding 
spot  unknown  to  any  of  those  who  had  been  her  asso- 
ciates in  this  place  which  for  a  time  she  had  called 
home. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

JOHN  DOE  VERSUS  Y.  V.  R.  R 

There  are  but  few  of  the  humble  who  are  untrust- 
worthy. Continually  we  discover  the  great  truth  that 
faithfulness  and  loyalty  are  general  human  traits,  no- 
where more  so  than  among  those  from  whom  they 
should  not  be  expected ;  nowhere  more  so  than  among 
those  who  are  debarred  from  hope.  The  great  captains 
of  industry  so-called,  themselves  blown  full  of  pride  of 
circumstance,  prate  often  of  the  inefficiencies  of  hu- 
man cattle;  yet  continually  the  wonder  remains  that 
these  same  cattle  continue  to  do  that  which  their 
conscience  tells  them  is  right  for  them  to  do,  and  to 
do  it  for  the  sake  of  the  doing.  The  lives  of  all  of  us 
are  daily  put  in  charge  of  beings  entitled  fully  to  an 
lago-like  hatred,  who  might  hate  for  the  very  sake  of 
hating;  yet  these  are  the  faithful  ones,  who  do  right 
for  the  sake  of  its  doing.  When  one  of  these  forsakes 
his  own  creed — then  it  is  that  danger  exists  for  all. 
It  is  the  unfaithfulness  of  the  humble  which  is  the 
unusual,  the  fateful,  the  tremendous  thing. 

There  was  small  active  harm  in  the  somewhat  pas- 
147 


148  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

sive  soul  of  John  Eddring's  assistant,  William  Car- 
son, the  large-handed  young  man  who  acted  as  clerk 
and  stenographer  and  rendered  more  or  less  blunder- 
ing service  about  the  office.  Perhaps  there  was  more 
of  curiosity  than  evil  in  his  nature.  It  was  curiosity 
in  the  first  place  which  gave  him  personal  knowledge 
of  a  certain  list  of  judgment  claims  against  the  Y.  V. 
railway,  which  the  chief  agent  of  that  road  had  re- 
cently cautioned  Eddring,  division  agent,  to  keep  re- 
vised up  to  date  and  to  hold  close  under  cover  as  a 
matter  of  absolute  secrecy.  These  things  were  more 
or  less  familiar  to  William  Carson  through  his  ac- 
quaintance with  the  correspondence  of  the  office.  This 
very  injunction  of  secrecy  inflamed  his  curiosity  to  the 
point  of  action.  In  the  absence  of  his  chief,  he  rum- 
maged through  the  office  papers  until  he  unearthed 
these  lists,  and  to  these  latter  he  gave  a  more  careful 
scrutiny  than  he  had  accorded  many  other  matters  un- 
der his  immediate  charge.  He  figured  up  the  totals  of 
the  unpaid  claims,  and  the  figures  startled  him.  He 
reflected  that  so  much  money  in  one  sum  would  re- 
present very  many  things  to  him  personally.  This  es- 
tablished, he  reflected  further  that  it  was  in  the  first 
place  most  unrighteous  to  withhold  these  sums  from 
the  lawful  claimants,  and  in  the  second  place,  to  with- 
hold them  from  himself.  He  was  sure  that  the  com- 


JOHN  DOE  VERSUS  Y.  V.  B.  B.          148 

pany  did  not  need,  and  ought  not  to  have,  this  money. 
If  only,  thought  William  Carson,  these  judgments 
might  be  collected,  and  if  only — but  beyond  this 
thought  his  brain  was  not  shrewd  enough  to  travel. 

It  needed  a  bolder  mind,  and  this,  as  it  chanced, 
was  at  hand,  after  the  devil's  fashion  in  such  affairs. 
Henry  Decherd  had  known  Carson  in  the  community 
where  he  had  lived  before  his  removal  to  the  city.  The 
two  had  since  then  met  by  chance  now  and  again  on 
the  street  or  elsewhere.  Once,  when  Eddring  chanced 
to  be  out  of  town,  they  happened  to  meet  and  paused 
for  a  conversation  longer  than  usual.  There  came  a 
hint  from  Carson,  a  word  of  quick  inquiry  from  De- 
cherd, a  flush  of  timorous  guilt  upon  the  face  of  the 
unfaithful  humble  one;  and  presently  these  two  re- 
paired to  the  office  of  the  claim  agent,  locked  the  door 
behind  them,  and  soon  were  absorbed  in  certain  lines 
and  columns  of  figures  which  had  been  prepared  by 
Carson. 

''This  ain't  for  ten  years,  nor  half  of  it,"  said  the 
latter,  at  length.  "But  you  can  see  it  runs  up  to  a 
good  lot  of  money.  Look  here. ' '  Decherd  gave  a  long 
whistle  as  he  looked  at  the  footings  of  the  columns  of 
figures. 

"And  they're  all  unpaid  claims,"  he  said.  "Judg- 
ments from  one  end  of  the  line  to  the  other,  it  looks 


150  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

like.  By  Jove,  it  does  seem  that  the  road  had  to  pay 
for  about  everything  in  the  Delta,  doesn't  it?" 

"Oh,  it  don't  have  to  pay  these  things,  don't  you 
worry,"  said  Carson.  "It  don't  need  no  sympathy, 
this  road  don't.  It  will  take  care  of  itself,  all  right. 
These  ain't  claims  that's  going  to  be  paid,  but  ones 
that  ain't  going  to  be  paid.  They're  ones  that's  in 
judgment  and  can  be  collected;  but  the  owners  of 
these  judgments  don't  seem  to  know  their  rights. 
They  don't  collect.  Maybe  they're  dead  or  moved 
away,  or  maybe  they've  forgotton  all  about  it,  or 
maybe  their  lawyers  haven't  taken  pains  to  tell  them 
—you  can't  tell  about  all  these  things.  Every  big 
accident  that  happens  on  the  road,  there's  a  lot  of 
judgments  taken  against  the  road;  but  they  don't  all 
get  paid,  as  you  see.  That  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  our 
business. ' ' 

"A  pretty  situation  of  affairs,  isn't  it?"  said  De- 
cherd.  "Looks  like  the  road  would  have  to  pay,  if 
these  claims  were  fought." 

"I  should  say  so.  These  judgments  are  on  the 
court  records  all  the  way  from  here  to  New  Orleans, 
and  they're  all  as  good  as  gold.  The  company  can't 
dodge  out  of  one  of  them,  if  a  fellow  takes  enough 
interest  to  get  around  and  collect.  Most  of  them  are 
air-tight.  Some  have  gone  on  appeal  to  upper  courts, 


JOHN  DOE  VERSUS  Y.  V.  E.  R.  151 

but  we  don't  bother  to  appeal  these  little  ones.  And, 
you  know,  there  ain't  a  court  in  the  Delta  that 
wouldn't  cinch  the  road  if  it  got  a  chance." 

' '  How  much  do  they  foot  up  ? "  said  Decherd  again, 
reaching  out  his  hand  for  the  papers. 

''About  eighty  thousand  dollars,  or  something  like 
that.  Why,  if  a  fellow— " 

"A  fellow  couldn't  push  the  whole  thing  at  once, 
you  know;  he  would  be  discovered  the  first  thing," 
said  Decherd.  The  other  pricked  up  his  ears  eagerly. 

"Suppose  he  was  caught,"  said  he,  "what  could 
they  do  ?  If  I  want  to  go  down  to  John  Jones '  cabin, 
down  somewhere  in  the  cane-brakes,  and  give  him 
five  dollars  for  a  judgment  that  he  has  forgot  about, 
or  is  scared  to  try  to  collect,  why,  I  get  the  judgment, 
and  it's  legal,  ain't  it?  Or  suppose  I  just  poke  him 
up  to  collect  it  and  he  gives  me  half?  That's  legal, 
ain  't  it  ?  And  who  can  help  it,  even  if  anybody  knew  ? 
Why,  say,  if  I  was  Mr.  Eddring  there,  knowing  what 
he  does  about  these  claims,  do  you  reckon  I  'd  be  work- 
ing very  long?  I  reckon  not.  I'd  go  in  along  this 
line  of  road  and  I  'd  get  some  fellow  to  hunt  up  these 
claims,  a  few  at  a  time,  and  I'd  see  that  the  company 
paid  these  judgments!"  He  swelled  up  at  the  thought 
of  his  own  daring.  "Why,  Mr.  Eddring,"  he  went 
on,  "he  could  stand  in  on  both  sides — draw  a  salary 


152  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

from  the  company,  an'  divide  with  the  niggers  and 
the  white  folks  that  has  claims  against  the  road.  It's 
easy,  especially  with  the  niggers,  because  they  never 
do  know  what's  going  on,  anyhow." 

Decherd  puckered  up  his  lips,  and  paused  for  a 
time  in  thought.  Carson  went  on.  "I  wouldn't  ask 
anything  better  than  this,"  said  he,  "to  get  plumb 
rich  in  about  two  or  three  years." 

Decherd  walked  up  and  down  slowly,  his  finger 
pressed  to  his  chin  in  thought.  His  face  was 
worn  and  haggard.  His  clothing  had  taken  on  a 
seedy  cast  not  formerly  common  to  him.  Apparently 
things  might  have  been  better  with  him  in  a  finan- 
cial way.  Perhaps  he  saw  a  way  to  mend  matters. 
"Halves?"  said  he  at  length,  suddenly  looking 
straight  into  Carson's  face. 

The  clerk  flushed  a  dull  red.  The  conspiracy  was 
formed.  "Why,  yes,"  said  he,  his  voice  half -trem- 
bling. "I  reckon  that  would  be  about  right." 

"Well,  then,  give  me  the  lists,"  said  Decherd. 
"I'm  up  and  down  the  road  in  the  Delta  now  and 
then.  I'll  take  care  of  these  things.  As  for  you, 
whatever  you  see  or  hear,  keep  your  mouth  shut,  or 
it'll  be  the  worse  for  you." 

"Sure,"  said  Carson,  and  endeavored  to  laugh. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

NUMBER  4 

One  day  not  long  subsequent  to  the  little  meeting  of 
Decherd  and  Carson  in  Eddring's  office,  there  chanced 
to  be  in  the  same  southern  city  one  James  Thompson, 
traveling  representative  of  a  furnishing  house  in  the 
North,  he  being  then  engaged  in  completing  his  regu- 
lar business  trip  through  that  part  of  the  country. 
Mr.  Thompson,  it  seemed,  found  himself  in  need  of  a 
traveling-bag,  and,  fancying  the  merchandising  pos- 
sibilities of  the  place,  stepped  into  a  prominent  shop 
on  the  main  street  at  a  late  hour  of  the  afternoon, 
and  proceeded  to  satisfy  his  somewhat  exacting  per- 
sonal taste.  He  selected  a  bag  of  alligator  leather,  of 
what  seemed  to  him  suitable  dimensions  and  trim- 
mings. 

"This  will  do  me,  I  think,"  said  he,  "about  as  long 
as  I  need  one.  I'm  going  to  quit  the  road  and  settle 
down  before  long. ' ' 

"You  better  haf  your  name-cart  put  on  it,  any- 
vays,"  said  the  salesman.  "It's  more  stylish." 

But  Mr.  Thompson  was  in  a  hurry  and  could  not 
153 


154  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

wait  for  that.  He  was  obliged  to  leave  the  city  that 
night  on  train  Number  4,  the  New  Orleans  Limited  on 
the  Y.  V.  railroad.  Presently,  he  chuckled  to  himself, 
he  would  not  be  taking  train  Number  4  any  more,  but 
would  be  sleeping  at  home  in  his  own  bed,  and  not 
obliged  to  get  up  in  the  morning  until  he  felt  like  it. 
His  season's  work  was  nearly  over,  and  after  that  he 
intended  to  retire  from  the  house  and  start  up  in  a 
business  of  his  own;  all  of  which  are  very  comfort- 
ing reflections  to  one  who  is  past  fifty,  and  who  has 
been  "on  the  road"  for  many  years. 

In  due  time  Mr.  Thompson,  smoking  a  comfortable 
cigar,  ambled  up  to  the  gate  beyond  which  stood  Num- 
ber 4  in  the  railway  station.  He  tossed  his  alligator 
bag  to  the  porter  at  the  car  step,  who  placed  it  among 
others  on  the  platform  of  the  car.  Mr.  Thompson 
then  ambled  into  the  car  and  sought  out  the  smok- 
ing-compartment,  heaving  a  sigh  of  content  as  he 
settled  down  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  cigar. 

The  conductor  of  Number  4  looked  at  his  watch, 
raised  his  hand  and  cried  out  "All  aboard!"  shortly 
and  sharply.  In  the  waiting-room  of  the  station  a 
negro  train-caller  sang  out,  "All  abo-o-oh-d!"  in  a 
long-drawn  minor,  which  sounded  rather  as  warning 
than  as  invitation.  The  caller,  as  he  completed  his  last 
round,  sprang  aside  to  escape  the  rush  of  a  young 


NUMBER  4  155 

man  who  ran  through  the  gate  just  in  time  to  catch 
the  moving  train.  He  threw  his  own  hand-bag  up  on 
the  platform  for  the  porter's  care,  and  also  passed 
back  into  the  train.  This  late-comer  was  Henry  De- 
cherd. 

As  Number  4  rolled  out  to  the  southward,  the  usual 
little  comedy  of  a  railway  train  at  night-time  began. 
An  old  lady  asked  the  porter  a  dozen  times  what  time 
the  "kyars  would  get  to  N'Yawlns."  Two  florid 
gentlemen  leaned  together  in  one  seat  and  discussed 
cotton,  cotton,  cotton.  In  yet  another  berth  two  young 
farmers  were  having  their  first  experience  in  high 
life,  and  were  eager  to  try  the  experience  of  actually 
going  to  sleep  upon  the  cars  while  the  same  continued 
their  forward  progress— a  thing  which  had  seemed  im- 
possible to  them.  Not  removing  their  clothing,  they 
venturesomely  pulled  off  their  shoes,  and  thereafter, 
in  some  fashion,  managed  to  squeeze  together  into  the 
same  berth.  "Why,  I'm  a-layin'  mighty  comf 'table 
now,"  exclaimed  one  presently,  to  his  own  evident 
surprise  and  gratification. 

"  So  'm  I, "  exclaimed  the  other.  Silence  then  for  a 
little  while,  when  again  the  first  voice  was  heard: 
"Why,  my  feet's  right  wahm!" 

"So's  mine!"  replied  his  friend,  in  equal  delight 
and  surprise. 


156  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"I  reckon  I'll  take  my  shoes  inside,"  said  the  first 
speaker,  presently. 

"So '11  I,"  said  the  second;  after  which  there  came 
silence. 

In  another  part  of  the  car  was  a  lady  with  a  little 
child,  which  jumped  and  squirmed  about,  and  made 
eyes  at  all  mankind,  including  James  Thompson.  The 
latter  made  eyes  in  turn,  and  waggled  his  fingers  at 
the  youngster,  which  trilled  and  gurgled  as  it  danced 
up  and  down,  now  hiding  its  face,  again  springing  up 
into  view  above  the  back  of  the  plush-covered  seat. 

"I  have  three  of  my  own  back  home,  madam," 
said  Mr.  Thompson,  going  up  to  the  mother  of  the 
child.  ' '  Come  here,  baby,  and  give  me  a  kiss ;  because 
I'm  a  poor  man  who  can't  be  kissed  by  his  own  little 
girl."  The  child  kissed  him  gleefully  and  sweetly  a 
dozen  times ;  and  perhaps,  after  all,  that  was  shriving 
and  absolution  for  James  Thompson.  Not  all  of  us 
go  down  into  the  valley  of  the  shadow  with  the  kiss 
of  innocence  on  our  lips. 

Number  4  steamed  on  to  the  southward.  She  crossed 
the  flat  bottoms  where  the  great  river  was  hedged  out 
by  the  levees;  edged  off  again  toward  the  red  clay 
hills  and  finally,  leaving  this  fringe  of  little  emi- 
nences, plunged  straight  and  deep  into  the  ancient 
forests  of  the  Delta,  whose  flat  floor  lay  out  ahead  for 


NUMBER  4  157 

many  miles.  Number  4  was  now  in  the  wilderness. 
Panther,  and  fox,  and  owl  went  silent  when  the  wild 
scream  of  Number  4  was  heard ;  of  Number  4,  carry- 
ing its  burden  of  the  ancient  comedy  and  tragedy  of 
life,  its  hates,  and  loves,  and  mysteries,  its  sordid,  its 
little  and  its  tremendous  things. 

Later  in  the  night  Number  4  groaned  and  creaked 
and  protested  at  the  stop  for  the  little  siding  of  the 
Big  House  plantation,  eighty  miles  from  the  point 
where  she  had  begun  her  flight.  Her  brake  shoes 
ground  so  sternly  that  the  heavy  oaken  beams  whined 
at  the  strain  put  on  them ;  yet  obedient  to  the  hand  of 
man,  she  did  stop,  though  it  was  but  to  discharge  a 
single  passenger. 

Henry  Deeherd  hurried  out  into  the  darkness  like 
some  creature  hard  pursued.  Number  4  swept  on, 
clacking,  rumbling,  screaming.  The  shriek  of  her 
whistle,  heard  now  and  again,  was  loud,  careless,  im- 
perious, self-assured. 

But  what  meant  this  hoarse  and  swiftly  broken 
note,  as  though  Number  4  were  caught  in  sudden  mor- 
tal fear?  What  meant  this  broken,  quavering  wail,  as 
though  the  monster  were  suddenly  arrested  by  an  ut- 
ter agony  ?  What,  sounding  far  across  the  sullen  for- 
est, was  this  rending  and  crashing  roar?  Number  4 


158  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

had  been  here,  hurrying  onward.     But  now — now 
where  and  what  was  Number  4  ? 

Meeting  her  fate,  Number  4  plunged,  ground,  shiv- 
ered, shortened  and  then  fell  apart,  shattered  like  a 
house  of  toys.  For  an  instant  the  wilderness  heard  no 
sound,  until  there  arose,  terrible  in  its  volume,  the 
wail  of  a  general  human  agony.  There  was  no  answer 
save  that,  borne  far  upon  the  humid  air  of  the  night, 
there  came  the  solemn  calling  of  the  deep-throated 
hunting  pack  of  the  Big  House  kennels.  Each  night 
the  pack  called  out  their  defiance  to  Number  4  as  she 
swept  by  with  her  roar  and  rattle  and  the  imperious 
challenge  of  her  whistle.  She  was  their  enemy.  But 
now  they  knew  that  evil  had  been  done,  that  life  was 
in  jeopardy;  even  as  they  knew  that  the  mighty  at  last 
had  fallen. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  PURSUIT 

It  was  a  strange  party  that  took  breakfast  at  the 
Big  House  table  on  the  morning  after  the  railway 
wreck.  All  these  guests,  injured  or  well,  crippled 
or  whole,  were  gay  and  talkative.  Gestures,  hysteri- 
cal smiles  marked  their  conduct.  Their  faces  showed 
no  spell  of  horror.  Men  had  looked  at  the  long  row 
of  dead  on  the  platform  at  the  station.  ' '  That  is  my 
father,"  said  one;  and  another,  "This  is  my  sister," 
but  they  spoke  impersonally,  and  only  to  satisfy  the 
curiosity  of  others.  There  was  no  room  for  an  in- 
dividual terror.  A  woman  with  both  arms  broken 
and  her  head  heavily  bound  sat  laughing,  and  again 
raised  her  voice  in  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving. 

The  broken-hearted  search,  the  frenzied  efforts  at 
relief  occupied  all  comers  far  into  the  morning.  It  was 
long  before  any  one  thought  of  asking  the  cause  of 
the  disaster;  yet  presently  reason  sufficient  was  dis- 
covered. The  broken  railway  train  covered  with  its 
wreckage  the  immediate  cause  of  the  accident:  a  pile 
of  timbers  erected  carefully  and  solidly  between  the 

159 


160  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

rails.  Seeing  this,  after  a  time,  there  began  to  mount 
in  the  jarred  and  dazed  senses  of  these  human  beings 
a  sullen  desire  for  justice  or  revenge. 

Among  the  first  to  seek  the  head  of  the  train  where 
the  wrecking  timbers  lay  was  John  Eddring,  who  ar- 
rived on  the  early  train  from  the  city.  By  virtue  of 
his  office  as  agent  of  the  personal  injury  department, 
he  at  once  began  to  possess  himself  of  such  facts  as 
might  be  of  use  later  on.  With  face  pale,  but  steady, 
he  traversed  the  entire  length  of  the  shattered  train, 
examining,  inquiring,  making  a  record  of  the  dead 
and  injured,  and  in  some  cases  examining  papers 
and  effects  for  purposes  of  identification. 

There  was  in  particular  one  victim,  a  large,  well- 
looking  man,  who  had  been  killed  in  the  forward 
compartment  of  one  of  the  sleeping  cars,  he  being 
the  only  one  who  suffered  death  or  extreme  injury 
in  that  car.  Close  by  was  his  hand-bag,  but  this  bore 
no  card  and  offered  no  distinguishing  mark  serving 
to  identify  its  owner.  The  porter  could  remember 
only  that  this  gentleman  had  got  on  at  the  city  and 
had  not  yet  been  "checked  up."  The  porter  was 
sure  that  this  was  his  valise,  for  he  had  himself 
brought  it  in  from  the  platform. 

"Thompson,  James  Thompson, " said  a  newspaper 
worker,  one  of  those  who  mysteriously  appeared  be- 


THE  PURSUIT  161 

fore  the  accident  was  many  hours  old.  "Here's  his 
accident  insurance  card.  Got  it  in  his  pocketbook. 
It's  twelve  thousand  to  his  wife,  anyhow,  I  reckon. 
Davenport,  Iowa;  that's  his  home." 

Eddring  felt  it  his  duty  to  examine  more  thor- 
oughly the  effects  of  this  victim.  The  hand-bag  held 
absolutely  no  items  of  personal  equipment.  Its  sole 
contents  were  a  small  and  curiously  bound  little  vol- 
ume, printed  in  the  French  language,  and  a  bundle 
of  papers  of  legal  size,  typewritten  and  backed  in  the 
form  of  railway  documents.  Eddring  could  not  con- 
ceal a  start  as  he  glanced  at  these  papers.  Hurriedly 
he  thrust  into  his  pocket  papers,  book  and  all. 

He  had  reason  for  surprise.  Here,  in  this  name- 
less package  in  the  care  of  this  stranger,  James 
Thompson  of  Davenport,  Iowa,  was  a  full  list  of  the 
outstanding  judgment  claims  against  the  Y.  V.  rail- 
way throughout  his  own  division ;  a  list  of  whose  ex- 
istence he  supposed  no  one  except  himself  had  any 
knowledge  whatever !  Attached  to  the  package  of  pa- 
pers there  was  a  letter  written  in  a  woman's  hand. 
Hasty  and  professional  as  was  his  glance,  and  much 
disturbed  as  he  was  by  the  discovery  which  accom- 
panied his  finding  of  the  letter,  the  words  which  met 
his  eyes  carried  a  shock  such  as  he  had  not  known  in 
all  the  years  of  service  in  his  eventful  calling. 


162  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"Dearest,"  ran  the  communication,  not  wholly  ill 
written:  "Dearest,  you  said  you  would  come  last 
week,  but  you  did  not.  I  am  uneasy.  Are  you  for- 
getting me  ?  Does  that  girl  mean  more  to  you  than  I 
do— does  either  of  them?  Why,  they  don't  know  how 
to  love.  You  know  I  would  do  anything  for  you  if 
you  kept  on  in  the  old  way,  but  you  shall  not  leave 
me.  You  say  you  have  to  'keep  things  in  careful 
shape. '  I  have  wished  a  thousand  times  that  girl  had 
been  out  of  the  way  long  ago.  Then  you  would  have 
to  depend  on  me  now  for  everything,  love  and  all.  You 
say  you  will  divide  it  all  with  me  when  we  get  it. 
What  do  I  care  about  that  ?  Let  it  all  go,  and  let  us 
go  and  live  somewhere  together  and  be  happy  as  we 
were. 

"Now  if  you  are  not  telling  me  the  truth,  you  are 
getting  yourself  into  trouble,  and  you  will  have 
enough  of  that  anyhow.  As  for  madam,  it's  not  you 
she  wants  any  more.  Yet  she  can't  bear  to  have  you 
look  at  the  girl.  You  don't  know  women  very  much. 
Now  she  has  forgotten  her  part,  let  her  make  it  up 
with  old  man  Blount  and  let  the  girl  go.  You  and  I 
can  fight  it  out  the  way  we  started  to  before  they  ever 
came  down  here.  I  say  one  string  to  a  bow  is  better 
than  two.  You  will  have  to  choose  between  these 
strings. 


THE  PURSUIT  163 

"If  I  ever  feel  certain  that  you  are  lying  to  me,  I'll 
do  what  ought  to  have  been  done,  and  then  I  won't 
care.  You  can  have  all  the  money  if  you  ever  get  it, 
but  I  am  going  to  have  all  of  you,  and  no  dividing 
with  anybody.  I  have  no  place  in  the  world  here,  and 
am  standing  everything  and  waiting  and  hoping. 
Sometime  people  will  hear  from  me.  Sometimes  I 
hate  myself  and  you,  and  all  the  world.  I  would  do 
big  things  if  I  once  started.  The  best  thing  you  can 
do  is  to  come  down  here  to  me  right  soon.  We  must 
have  a  talk,  and,  besides,  I  want  to  see  you." 

The  letter  bore  no  signature,  save  a  scrawled  mark 
or  sign,  which  Eddring  did  not  pause  to  examine  at 
the  moment.  Indeed  he  had  no  time  to  ponder 
or  to  speculate,  for  even  as  he  folded  the  letter 
and  placed  it  in  his  pocket  with  the  other  articles 
taken  from  the  valise,  he  heard  a  sudden  cry, 
and,  going  forward,  joined  again  the  group  that  had 
formed  about  the  pile  of  fatal  timbers  at  the  head  of 
the  wreck.  Some  one  showed  him  a  handkerchief,  a 
sodden  bit  of  linen  which  had  been  taken  from  under 
the  heap  of  logs.  It  was  a  woman's  handkerchief, 
and  as  Eddring  spread  it  out  on  his  hand  he  noted  in 
one  corner  a  curious  embroidered  mark.  At  this  he 
gazed  intently,  with  a  vague  feeling  that  somewhere 


164  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

he  had  seen  a  similar  mark  before.  It  was  like  some 
rude  monogram  or  crest. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  said  he,  quietly,  "I  should 
like  to  have  that  handkerchief.  It  might  be  useful 
with  other  evidence  which  I  have  in  my  possession." 
None  offered  objections,  and  Eddring  presently  moved 
away.  He  felt  a  certain  mental  uneasiness  which  he 
could  not  fully  formulate;  but  presently  all  specula- 
tion was  carried  from  his  mind  by  the  crowding  of 
events  about  him. 

There  had  by  this  time  appeared  the  sheriff  of  Tul- 
lahoma  County,  who  brought  with  him  the  most  prac- 
tical agencies  of  justice  possible  for  that  peculiar 
country,  three  dogs  known  widely  as  skilled  followers 
of  human  trails.  To  the  sheriff  Eddring  now  offered 
the  newly  discovered  handkerchief.  The  latter  held 
it  out  to  the  dogs,  which  sniffed  at  it  gravely,  and 
sniffed  also  at  the  place  where  it  had  been  found  un- 
der the  derailing  timbers.  The  sheriff  went  about 
his  duties  methodically,  now  moving  back  all  the  spec- 
tators so  that  the  dogs  might  have  full  opportunity 
in  their  work. 

The  tail  of  the  lead  dog  at  length  began  to  move 
slowly  from  side  to  side.  He  walked  a  pace  or  so  down 
the  bank  and  paused,  the  other  two  coming  to  him. 
The  sheriff  pointed  silently.  Distinctly  marked  in 


THE  PURSUIT  165 

the  soil  was  the  print  of  a  shoe— a  woman's  shoe,  long, 
narrow.  All  three  of  the  dogs  now  moved  toward  a 
gap  in  the  row  of  stumps  which  formed  a  rude  hedge 
for  the  cleared  right  of  way.  At  this  little  gap  the 
narrow  footprint  was  seen  again,  with  others  made  by 
bare  feet.  At  the  edge  of  the  wood  there  came  a 
long,  low,  sobbing  call  from  the  lead  dog,  and  pres- 
ently the  others  wailed  their  confirmation ;  so  that  the 
trail  was  now  steadily  begun. 

They  followed  the  dogs  for  miles,  across  glade  and 
ridge  and  opening,  through  jungles  of  vines  and 
matted  cane;  and  presently  they  came  upon  paths 
which  converged,  separated  and  converged  again,  as 
might  have  been  in  the  jungle  about  a  village  of  the 
Black  Continent.  They  went  on  and  on,  and  finally 
they  came  out,  as  John  Eddring  in  his  heart  knew  they 
presently  would,  at  the  edge  of  a  little  hidden  open- 
ing, surrounded  by  a  wall  of  deep  green  cane.  There 
before  them  stood  a  long,  low,  log  structure,  which  he 
himself  could  have  described  in  advance.  Upon  the 
door,  done  in  the  blind,  morbid  egotism  of  crime, 
which  so  often  leaves  open  sign  and  signal  for  its 
own  undoing,  there  showed,  cut  deep  in  the  jamb,  a 
rude  sign,  cabalistic,  mysterious,  fetish-like.  To  Ed- 
dring it  seemed  for  the  instant  to  be  the  same  mark 
as  that  upon  the  handkerchief.  He  could  not  ex- 


166  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

plain  these  things  in  his  own  mind.  Others  of  the 
party  were  more  interested  in  pointing  out  once  more, 
in  the  confusion  of  footprints  before  the  building, 
the  imprint  of  the  same  narrow  shoe.  Eddring  was 
striving  to  connect  this  imprint  with  the  mark  on 
the  handkerchief  and  on  the  door,  with  certain  things 
which  he  had  heard  on  this  very  spot  long  before; 
and  with  that  glimpse  of  a  woman's  garb  in  the  dark- 
ness at  the  time  of  the  night  attack  on  the  Big  House. 
There  was  no  time  to  ponder  upon  these  things.  The 
dogs  passed  over  the  trampled  ground  in  front  of 
the  building,  sniffed  at  the  door,  circled  the  building, 
sniffed  at  the  windows,  passed  slowly  into  the  empty 
room  when  the  door  was  opened  for  them.  Then  they 
drew  apart  again,  and,  wailing  once  more  solemnly, 
headed  back  along  a  path  which  presently  brought 
all  into  the  plain  road  to  the  railway  station.  The 
procession  moved  more  rapidly  now,  and  presently  it 
had  crossed  the  railway  track  and  turned  into  the  lane 
which  led  up  to  the  Big  House,  the  dogs  threading 
without  hesitation  the  maze  of  footprints  which  cov- 
ered all  the  ground  thereabout.  They  came  on  with 
heads  down  and  tails  slowly  moving,  now  and  again 
giving  utterance  to  their  long  and  mournful  note,  un- 
til presently  they  and  those  who  followed  them  were 
met  at  the  yard  gate  by  Colonel  Blount,  who  came 


THE  PURSUIT  167 

down  to  greet  the  sheriff  of  the  county,  whom  he 
knew  very  well. 

"Jim,"  said  he,  "I  know  you  and  your  dogs,  and 
I  know  what  you're  doing.  It's  all  right,  but  I  want 
to  warn  you  to  be  mighty  careful  about  my  own  dogs. 
They  won't  run  with  any  other  pack,  and  they'll  kill 
a  strange  dog  just  as  sure  as  they  can  get  to  him. ' ' 

The  sheriff  looked  at  him  and  shook  his  head,  as 
if  to  say  that  justice  must  have  its  course.  Blount 
made  no  further  objection,  and  the  three  trailing 
dogs,  entering  the  gate,  now  crossed  the  lawn  and 
passed  around  the  corner  of  the  house  toward  the 
quarters  of  the  servants,  beyond  which  lay  the  kennels 
of  the  fighting  Big  House  pack.  The  baying  of  these 
dogs,  penned  up,  had  been  incessant.  They  could  toler- 
ate no  thought  of  intelligence  other  than  their  own  at 
this  work.  They  were  born  and  trained  to  fight,  and 
knew  no  kinship  with  their  species.  It  had  been  bet- 
ter for  Jim  Peters,  sheriff  of  Tullahoma,  had  he  taken 
the  advice  of  the  master  of  the  Big  House;  for  as  he 
turned  into  the  yard  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  the 
prediction  of  the  latter  came  true,  and  so  swiftly  that 
none  saw  how  it  chanced. 

"Who  loosed  the  gate  no  one  ever  knew ;  but  certainly 
it  was  opened,  and  the  fighting  bear-pack  came  boil- 
ing out,  eager  for  any  foe.  There  was  ineffectual 


168  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

shouting  over  a  mass  of  writhing,  snarling  creatures 
of  many  colors.  In  a  moment  the  solemn-faced  emis- 
saries of  justice  lay  dead  and  mangled  on  an  unfin- 
ished trail.  Blount  caught  the  sheriff's  hand  as  it 
moved  toward  his  revolver. 

"It's  no  use  shooting  the  dogs,  Jim,"  said  he. 
"You've  run  the  trail  fair  to  here,  and  you  know  I'll 
help  you  run  it  to  the  end.  I  don't  know  what  to 
say.  Hell's  broke  loose  in  the  Delta." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   TRAVELING-BAG 

The  sheriff  turned  upon  Blount  his  grave  face,  and 
for  a  time  made  no  answer.  "You're  right,  Cal," 
said  he,  at  length.  " Things  are  bad  down  here.  It's 
no  nigger  planned  this  thing.  But  if  it  wasn't,  then 
who  did?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Blount.  "Some  day,  my 
friend,  we'll  find  out,  and  then  we'll  see  whether  or 
not  there's  any  law  left  in  the  Delta  for  people  who 
do  things  like  that."  He  pointed  toward  the  spot 
where  a  long  line  of  men  were  now  busily  engaged  in 
removing  from  the  rails  the  fragments  of  what  had 
been  train  Number  4. 

"Come  into  the  house,  men,"  said  Blount,  pre- 
sently. "Let's  get  something  to  eat."  There  had 
been  more  than  a  hundred  persons  taken  in  as  guests 
at  the  Big  House  that  day,  but  even  yet  the  hospitality 
of  the  old  planter's  home  was  not  quite  exhausted. 
The  two  ladies  of  the  house  had  abundance  to  do  in 
caring  for  the  injured,  but  the  servant,  Delphine,  had 
become  the  presiding  spirit  of  the  household  in  these 

169 


170  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

hours  of  stress.  In  some  way  Delphine  brought  par- 
tial order  out  of  the  chaos,  and  the  great  table  still 
was  served. 

By  this  time  there  had  begun  the  pitiful  procession 
which  was  to  empty  the  Big  House  of  its  company. 
The  tracks  were  nearly  cleared  by  the  wrecking  crew, 
and  long  rows  of  fires  were  consuming  the  broken 
evidences  of  the  ruin  that  had  been  wrought.  The  in- 
jured had  been  cared  for  as  best  might  be  by  the 
physicians  of  the  relief  train,  and  this  train,  with  its 
burden  of  the  living  and  the  dead,  now  started  on  its 
journey  northward.  The  day  of  Number  4  was  done. 
The  iron  way  would  soon  again  have  its  own.  An- 
other Number  4,  screaming,  exultant,  defiant,  would 
again  pursue  its  course  across  the  wilderness. 

Naturally,  in  hours  so  crowded  with  perplexities, 
the  master  of  the  Big  House  had  had  small  time  to 
specialize  his  hospitality.  The  demands  of  the  living, 
the  needs  of  the  suffering,  the  eagerness  of  all  in  the 
search  for  the  author  of  this  disaster,  kept  him,  as 
well  as  others,  so  occupied  that  he  scarce  knew  what 
was  going  forward.  He  had  not  known  that  Henry 
Decherd  was  about  the  place  until  he  saw  him  seated 
at  his  own  table.  He  made  no  inquiries,  supposing 
that  Decherd  might  have  been  a  passenger  on  the 
train;  yet  he  greeted  this  uninvited  guest  none  too 


THE  TRAVELING-BAG  171 

warmly,  even  in  that  sanctuary.  Decherd  thought 
best  later  to  explain  his  presence.  He  had  been  on  the 
wrecked  train,  he  said  to  Colonel  Blount,  but  had  by 
some  miracle  escaped.  He  was  on  his  way  to  New 
Orleans,  and  wished  to  take  the  first  train  down  as 
soon  as  traffic  was  resumed.  He  hoped  that  he  was 
not  intruding  too  much  if  he  once  more  dropped  in 
on  his  old  friend.  To  this  Colonel  Blount  listened 
grimly  and  said  no  word,  only  sweeping  his  hand  to- 
ward the  table.  "Eat,"  said  he,  and  so  turned  away. 
He  would  have  done  as  much  for  a  strange  hound  in 
his  yard,  and  Decherd  knew  it. 

It  was  well  on  in  the  afternoon  when  John  Eddring, 
still  busy  with  his  confused  mass  of  papers,  was  in 
turn  approached  at  the  table  where  he  sat  by  this 
same  Henry  Decherd.  The  latter  carried  in  his  hand 
a  traveling-bag  which  he  extended  toward  the  claim 
agent.  "Mr.  Eddring."  said  he,  "I  found  this  bag 
in  my  room,  but  it  isn't  mine.  They  tell  me  you've 
got  track  of  a  lot  of  things.  Did  you  see  anything  of 
an  alligator  bag  about  like  this?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  said  Eddring,  quietly. 

"Well,  I  know  you're  claim  agent  on  the  road," 
said  Decherd.  "You  seem  to  be  getting  ready  for  a 
lot  of  trouble  later  on.  I  didn't  know  but  you  might 
have  seen  my  bag  among  others.  Nothing  in  it  much 


172  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

—a  few  collars  and  brushes,  you  know;  things  I  could 
use  now  if  I  had  them." 

"Would  you  let  me  see  this  bag?"  said  Eddring. 
Decherd,  somewhat  uneasily,  as  it  seemed  to  Ed- 
dring, opened  the  valise  and  displayed  its  contents. 
"This  seemed  to  belong  to  some  fellow  by  the  name 
of  Thompson,"  said  he,  as  he  rmnTnflgp.fi  among  the 
articles.  "Maybe  he  has  gone  back  to  the  city — 
maybe  he's  got  my  bag.  See,  here's  a  letter  addressed 
to  him,  'James  Thompson,  Davenport' — "  Eddring 
glanced  at  the  handwriting.  It  bore  no  resemblance 
to  that  of  another  letter  which  at  that  moment  rested 
in  his  own  pocket.  His  face  half-flushed.  He  begged 
the  dead  man's  pardon.  This,  he  felt  assured,  was 
from  James  Thompson's  wife.  The  other  letter,  he 
felt  with  swift  conviction,  was  from  a  woman  differ- 
ent. Yes,  and  to  a  different  man.  Yet  he  held  his 
own  counsel  as  to  this. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  were  your  bag  that  I've 
got  in  my  own  room,  Mr.  Decherd, ' '  said  he.  He  rose 
and  led  the  way,  and  Decherd,  perforce,  must  follow. 
"Is  this  yours?"  He  held  up  to  Decherd 's  view  the 
valise  which  had  once  contained  the  book  and  papers 
earlier  mentioned.  Eddring  looked  narrowly  into  De- 
cherd's  face.  He  saw  it  suddenly  change  color,  going 
from  pale  to  sallow. 


THE  TRAVELING-BAG  173 

Decherd  made  a  distinct  effort  at  recovering  him- 
self. "Y-yes,  that's  it — it  looks  like  it,  anyhow," 
said  he. 

Eddring  handed  him  the  valise.  Decherd  pressed 
the  spring  of  the  lock  and  looked  into  the  interior. 

"Why,  it's  empty!"  cried  he.    ''What  in—" 

"Yes,"  said  Eddring,  simply,  "it's  empty."  De- 
cherd cast  at  him  one  swift,  veiled  look,  under  which 
Eddring  saw  all  the  covert  venom  of  a  dangerous  ser- 
pent that  is  aroused.  "It's  not  my  bag,  anyhow," 
said  Decherd,  regaining  his  composure.  "I  thought 
it  was,  but  mine  had  my  name  on  the  plate." 

"Yes?"  said  Eddring.  "I  am  sorry  I  can't  help 
you.  Well,  if  the  bag  isn't  yours,  I'll  just  keep  it. 
I  don't  doubt  the  owner  will  be  found  in  time."  The 
eyes  of  the  two  met  fairly  now ;  and  from  that  instant 
there  was  issue  joined  between  them. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MISS  LADY  AND  HENRY  DECHEED 

Why  Henry  Decherd  should  have  remained  so  long 
at  the  Big  House  at  this  particular  time  might  have 
found  plausible  answer  in  any  of  a  dozen  ways.  There 
were  reasons  indeed  why  Decherd  should  be  cov- 
ertly pleased  at  matters  as  he  now  found  them. 
Colonel  Blount  touched  his  pride  keenly  enough 
by  practically  ignoring  his  presence,  yet  he  made 
amends  by  continuing  moody  and  aloof,  spend- 
ing little  time  about  the  house.  John  Eddring 
had  long  since  taken  his  departure  for  the  city.  Mrs. 
Ellison  was  rarely  visible  about  the  house.  There  was 
an  atmosphere  of  uneasiness,  an  unsettled  discontent 
over  all  things.  Yet,  for  the  oblique  purposes  of 
Henry  Decherd,  matters  could  not  have  been  better 
arranged.  So  much  being  established,  he  played  his 
chosen  part  at  least  with  boldness.  In  spite  of  all 
this  recent  stress  and  strain,  in  spite  of  this  continu- 
ing trace  of  sadness  and  anxiety  which  lay  over  all, 
Henry  Decherd  none  the  less  knew  very  well  that 
there  was  now  at  hand  the  best  and  perhaps  the  last 

174 


MISS  LADY  AND  DECHERD  175 

opportunity  which  he  might  expect  for  the  carrying 
out  of  a  certain  intention  which,  above  all  other  pur- 
poses, worthy  or  unworthy,  had  long  possessed  his 
soul.  At  times  he  was  absent  from  the  Big  House, 
none  knew  where ;  for  in  the  careless  bigness  of  that 
place  there  were  no  locks  upon  the  doors  and  no  hours 
for  the  spreading  of  the  table.  Each  came  and  went 
as  he  pleased.  In  no  other  situation  could  Decherd 
have  found  things  shaped  better  to  his  plan. 

That  plan,  the  sole  motive  which  could  have  kept 
him  at  that  time  in  that  certain  locality,  was  to  speak 
alone  with  Miss  Lady.  Even  thus  favored  by  circum- 
stances, he  found  this  purpose  difficult  to  accomplish. 
Now  it  was  Colonel  Blount  who  passed  moodily  across 
the  yard ;  or  it  was  Mrs.  Ellison  who  accosted  him  just 
as  he  started  to  follow  the  young  girl  down  the  hall 
or  out  on  the  gallery.  Once  or  twice  the  girl  Del- 
phine  stopped  him  in  some  such  errand  and  held  him 
on  one  pretext  or  another  in  some  corner  of  the  place. 
Yet  Decherd,  involved  as  was  the  game  he  played, 
persisted  and  at  length  had  his  more  immediate  wish. 

He  came  upon  Miss  Lady  at  last  in  the  twilight  on 
the  big  gallery,  when  the  birds  were  chirping  all  about 
and  the  insects  were  attuning  their  nightly  orchestra. 
He  walked  directly  up  to  her. 

"Miss  Lady,"  he  said  suddenly,  without  parley 


176  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

or  preface,  "ah,  Miss  Lady,  how  glad  I  am  to  find 
you  at  last!" 

The  girl  drew  back  from  him,  at  once  divining 
the  import  of  his  air  and  tone ;  but  he  went  on. 

"I've  waited  so  long,"  said  he.  "There's  always 
been  some  one  about.  Couldn't  you  see — don't  you  see 
what  it  is  that  brings  me  to  you?"  He  would  have 
caught  her  hand  in  his  own  feverish  one,  but  again 
she  drew  away,  looking  at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

"Dearest,"  he  went  on,  "listen.  I  can't  do  without 
you.  I  have  loved  you  ever  since  first  I  saw  you. 
Come,  tell  me—" 

Even  the  icy  silence  of  the  girl  scarce  served  to 
check  him.  There  was,  indeed,  evident  on  his  face 
the  existence  of  an  emotion  as  genuine  as  could  be 
conceived  in  a  soul  like  his.  It  was,  moreover,  the 
very  devil's  instant  for  approaching  this  poor 
girl,  hopeless,  outcast,  overstrung,  altogether  and 
piteously  in  need  of  comfort.  At  that  time  Miss  Lady 
could  count  upon  no  friend  in  all  the  world.  She 
had  no  confidante,  no  counselor.  That,  of  all  possible 
moments,  was  the  most  fortunate  time  for  a  man  like 
Henry  Decherd,  even  had  the  sweet  beauty  and  help- 
lessness of  this  girl  not  wrung  from  him  respect  as 
well  as  an  unrestrained  and  passionate  regard.  What 
was  it,  then,  which  at  that  moment  intervened  be- 


MISS  LADY  AND  DECHERD  177 

tween  these  two  ?  "What  was  the  hidden  guidance  that 
came  to  Miss  Lady  at  that  time?  She  herself  could 
not  explain.  She  could  not  have  told  what  caused  her 
to  tremble  as  though  of  an  ague — could  not  have  told 
why,  though  she  sought  to  see  clearly  the  face  of  this 
man  who  came  to  her  with  the  words  of  a  lover,  there 
seemed  to  fall  between  them  some  interposing  veil, 
rendering  his  features  uncertain,  indistinct.  Craving 
and  needing  a  friend  at  this  hour  of  her  life,  none  the 
less  she  saw  not  now  that  friend. 

"No,"  she  called  out,  frightened.  "No!  Do  not!" 
And  that  was  all  that  she  could  think,  as  all  that  she 
could  do  was  to  move  yet  farther  away. 

He  would  not  accept  repulse,  but  followed  on  with 
eager  and  impassioned  words.  ' '  I  love  you ! "  he  whis- 
pered. "Come,  what  is  this  place  to  you?  There's  a 
big  world  full  of  things  to  see  and  do !  We  '11  be  mar- 
ried, we'll  travel,  we  shall  see  the  world.  You  shall 
know  what  love  can  mean — what  life  really  is !  Miss 
Lady,  dearest — " 

After  all,  by  the  will  of  the  immortal  gods,  who 
sometimes  have  in  care  the  welfare  of  the  Miss  Ladys 
of  this  earth,  Henry  Decherd  erred  in  these  very 
proofs  of  a  passion  sincere  as  he  was  capable  of  feel- 
ing. A  too  hasty  ardor  failed  where  a  calmer  friend- 
ship had  gone  further  toward  winning  a  heart-sore, 


178  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

helpless  girl.  The  balance  of  the  issue,  for  a  moment 
trembling  in  his  favor,  was,  within  the  instant,  quite 
destroyed. 

' '  Sir, ' '  said  Miss  Lady,  and  he  paused  as  she  freed 
her  hand  and  stepped  back  from  him,  strangely  cold 
and  calm,  "I  have  given  you  no  possible  right—" 

"But  you  don't  understand.  Listen,  I  tell  you," 
he  began  again. 

1 '  I  can  not  listen ;  it  is  not  right  for  me  to  listen.  I 
am  too  troubled  with  many  things  to  listen  to  you 
now.  You  don't  know  who  I  am.  I  do  not  know,  my- 
self, who  I  am.  You've  been  deceived  by  her — you 
don't  know.  I  have  no  mother,  as  I  thought  I  had. 
I  am  going  away  from  here  to-morrow.  I  don't  know 
where  I  shall  go,  but  I  know  I  shall  not  stay  here.  It's 
wrong  for  me  to  stay.  It's  wrong  for  me  to  listen  to 
you.  I  can't  tell  you  all  I've  heard."  Miss  Lady's 
lip  trembled. 

"Did  she  tell  you?  Has  Mrs.  Ellison—"  cried 
Decherd,  suddenly  flushing.  But  Miss  Lady  was  too 
much  disturbed  to  notice  his  speech  or  his  changed 
expression.  She  could  only  reiterate,  "I  am  going 
away. ' ' 

"Oh,  come  now,"  said  he,  his  voice  again  gaining 
confidence  and  his  face  showing  relief  as  he  glanced 
about  him.  "Come,  you  are  only  tired.  I  ought  not 


MISS  LADY  AND  DECREED  179 

to  have  troubled  you  this  way,  this  evening,  but  I 
could  not  help  it — I  could  not  wait.  I  was  afraid— 
but  then  to-morrow — I'll  see  you  to-morrow.  Think, 
Miss  Lady,  think—" 

"I  have  thought,"  said  Miss  Lady,  with  sudden 
decision.  "I  have  thought;  and  as  for  to-morrow, 
there'll  be  none  for  me  at  this  place.  I'm  going 
away  at  once.  I  must  begin  life  all  over  again.  It 
has  been  wrong  for  me  to  live  here  at  all.  Why  did 
you  ask  us  to  come  here  ?  We  would  have  been  better 
off  where  we  were,  even  if  we  were  poor  and  help- 
less." 

''It's  been  heaven  here  since  you  came." 

"Oh,  it  was  kind  of  you  to  get  mamma  and  me  a 
home  here.  It  has  been  home.  It  has  been  so  sweet. 
I  love  it — I  shall  always  love  it.  It  is  big  and  free 
here  for  everybody.  One  can  live  here— one  could 
live  here  if  it  were  right.  Colonel  Blount  is  a  splen- 
did man,  a  grand  man — " 

"Yes?" 

"Yes,  yes,  a  splendid  man." 

"But  you'll  not  stay  here?"  There  was  well-nigh 
as  much  eagerness  as  regret  in  his  tone.  She  did  not 
note  it. 

"No,  I  can  not,"  she  replied.  "I  can't  tell  you 
everything— I  don't  want  to  tell  you  everything.  No 


180  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

one  is  to  blame,  I  suppose.  It's  all  because  I  have 
just  grown  up,  and  find  I'm  in  the  wrong  place.  I 
have  been  living  along  here  just — just  like  one  of  the 
blacks  out  there  in  the  fields — without — without  tak- 
ing thought.  If  it  were  honest,  if  I  could  do  any- 
thing, if  I  belonged  to  any  one  and  could  feel  that  in 
some  way  I  earned  the  right  to — to— not  take 
thought,  then  it  would  be  different." 

"That's  what  I  say!  That's  as  I  want  to  have 
it,"  he  began;  but  she  would  not  listen. 

"But  it  isn't  right,"  she  went  on.  "I  can't  tell 
you  everything.  I  can't  even  tell  you  about  Mrs. 
Ellison.  Perhaps  you  have  been  deceived.  Ask  her. 
Go  ask  Colonel  Blount,  and  he  may  tell  you  what  he 
likes.  But  for  me,  just  forget  me.  I  couldn't  love 
you — I  couldn't  love  any  one  now.  I  am  cold,  all 
through. ' ' 

The  plaintiveness  of  her  speech  touched  even  this 
man.  He  held  out  his  arms.  "No,  no,"  she  cried, 
as  she  drew  back.  "I  tell  you,  the  world  has  gone  to 
pieces.  I  must  find  a  new  one.  I  am  not  myself,  I  am 
lost;  I  don't  know  what  I  am."  Again  for  a  half- 
instant,  touched  as  he  was,  Decherd  went  near  to 
forgetting  the  lover.  There  was  almost  exultation 
on  his  face  as  he  saw  how  fortune  was  now  favoring 
him  in  his  plans.  There  was  nothing  he  wished  so 


MISS  LADY  AND  DECHERD  181 

much  as  that  Miss  Lady  might  leave  the  Big  House 
at  once  and  for  ever. 

"I  can't  tell  who  I  am!"  the  girl  repeated,  as 
though  in  an  agony  of  entreaty.  ' '  I  'm  some  one  else ! 
It's  so  strange.  I  must  go — " 

"But  where  would  you  go?"  said  he. 

"I  do  not  know;  somewhere." 

"But  then?  Why,  what  could  you  do,  alone? 
Think— here  am  I  offering  you  all  you  need,  a  home 
in  some  other  place,  comfort,  safety,  some  one  to  care 
for  you — why,  perhaps  it  might  mean  riches  before 
long— I  will  tell  you— you'll  find  it  hard  enough 
alone." 

"Yes,  it  will  be  new  and  hard,"  said  Miss  Lady, 
with  a  wan  smile.  ' '  I  have  never  thought  very  much 
for  myself.  Some  one  has  always  seemed  ready  to 
do  things  for  me.  I  can't  do  very  much.  But  then, 
you  know,  sometimes  the  things  you  can't  do  show 
you  the  way  to  things  that  you  can." 

"You  are  obstinate,"  cried  Decherd,  angry  now,  as 
only  a  weak  man  would  have  been.  "  I  '11  follow  you, 
wherever  you  go !  The  time  will  come  when  you  will 
be  glad  enough  to  see  me." 

"Mr.  Decherd,"  said  Miss  Lady,  straightening  into 
a  quick  aloofness,  "you  said  you  loved  me.  That 


182  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

sounds  to  me  as  if  in  some  way  you  were  threatening 
me." 

1 '  Well,  I  will, ' '  he  reiterated  sullenly.  ' '  You  'd  bet- 
ter think." 

Miss  Lady  shook  her  head  slowly  from  side  to  side. 
"I  am  frightened,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  some 
girls  would  not  be.  But,  in  some  way,  though  I  am 
easy  to  frighten,  I  don't  seem  easy  to  frighten  from 
things  that  I  think  I  ought  to  do." 

Knowing  now  that  he  had  found  obstacle  in  this 
girl's  will  not  thus  to  be  overcome,  Decherd  allowed 
his  anger  to  get  the  better  of  him. 

"Go,  then!"  he  cried  brutaUy. 

"Sir,"  said  Miss  Lady,  "you  yourself  may  go  now, 
if  you  please;"  and  she  stood  so  unagitated,  so  com- 
posed and  certain  of  herself,  certain  as  well  of  his 
obedience,  that  Decherd  knew  here  was  a  woman 
different  from  any  with  whom  he  had  hitherto  had  to 
do.  Flinging  out  his  hands  in  anger  at  his  own  mis- 
take, his  own  folly,  he  turned  and  strode  away. 
Miss  Lady,  sinking  into  the  chair,  gazed  out 
at  a  world  now  grown  indistinct  and  shadowy,  full 
of  the  terrors  of  uncertainty. 

Decherd  knew  himself  beaten  for  the  time,  when  he 
left  her.  But  though  he  promised  it  to  himself,  he  did 
not  follow  Miss  Lady  at  that  time ;  for  before  another 


MISS  LADY  AND  DECHERD  183 

moon  had  lit  the  mysterious  realm  of  the  forest  beyond 
which  lay  an  unknown  world,  Miss  Lady  was  indeed 
gone.  Carrying  with  her  not  even  a  clear  knowledge 
of  her  own  past,  doubting  her  own  parentage,  doubt- 
ing almost  her  own  identity;  helpless,  unprepared, 
and  all  too  ignorant  of  the  world  from  which  such  as 
she  should  for  ever  be  shielded  and  protected,  she 
had  left  the  only  spot  on  earth  she  knew  as  home, 
the  only  place  where  she  could  claim  a  friend,  and 
fared  out  into  the  unknown!  It  was  as  if  some  evil 
harpy  of  the  air  had  swooped  down  and  borne  her  into 
the  pathless  sky,  as  though  the  earth  or  the  waters 
had  closed  over  her  and  left  no  trace.  The  simple 
and  the  sincere,  those  most  direct  and  frank,  oft- 
times  are  most  difficult  to  follow  in  their  actions 
when  they  take  counsel  wholly  of  themselves.  Miss 
Lady  had  no  involved  motive,  none  but  the  one  direct 
and  imperative,  no  means  except  the  one  immediately 
at  hand.  Hence,  so  impelled,  so  guided,  she  disap- 
peared completely,  impossible  as  that  might  have 
seemed.  Not  even  in  the  piteous  little  note  which 
Colonel  Calvin  Blount  later  crushed  in  his  hand,  did 
she  give  any  clue  to  her  destination. 

Henry  Decherd  did  not  take  the  down  train  on  that 
day.  Had  he  taken  Miss  Lady's  declarations  serious- 
ly, and  suspected  a  deliberate  intention  on  her  part, 


184  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

he  might  have  watched  the  only  avenue  of  escape 
possible  for  her.  But  this  he  did  not  do. 

In  truth  the  plans  of  Henry  Decherd  himself,  quasi 
guest  at  the  Big  House,  guest  tolerated,  guest  under 
suspicion,  were  at  that  time  of  a  nature  singularly 
intricate,  and  demanding  all  his  skill  and  resources. 
It  was  certain  that  Decherd  did  not  disappear  with 
Miss  Lady — so  much  was  left  to  comfort  Colonel  Cal- 
vin Blount.  It  was  certain  also  that  he  said  no  adieus 
to  his  long-time  host,  nor  gave  any  hint  as  to  his  own 
departure.  Yet  it  was  clearly  proved  by  many  of  the 
servants  about  the  Big  House  that  Decherd  was  seen 
mounted  and  riding  to  the  westward  at  an  early  hour 
of  the  same  morning  in  which  Miss  Lady  was  thought 
to  have  left  the  place. 

This  fact,  indeed  Decherd  himself,  was  well-nigh 
forgotten  in  the  grief  which  now  came  to  the  master 
of  the  Big  House.  Troubled  as  Colonel  Calvin  Blount 
was,  there  was  born,  and  there  remained,  in  his  mind 
the  unshakable  belief  that  Miss  Lady  had  not  of  her 
own  will  gone  with  Henry  Decherd. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MISFORTUNE 

How  narrow  and  inefficient  are  sometimes  all  the 
ways  of  fate  and  life !  By  how  small  a  margin,  pass- 
ing upon  the  crowded  ways  of  life,  do  we  ofttimes 
miss  the  friend  who  comes  with  running  feet  to  meet 
us !  The  very  train  which  bore  Miss  Lady  from  the 
Big  House  brought  down  from  the  northward  John 
Eddring,  eagerly  bent  upon  an  errand  of  his  own — 
John  Eddring,  for  weeks  restless,  harried  and  driven 
of  his  own  heart,  and  now  fully  committed  to  a  pur- 
pose whereon  depended  all  his  future  happiness.  He 
must  find  Miss  Lady,  must  see  her  once  more;  must 
tell  her  this  one  thing  indisputably  sure,  that  the 
paths  of  earth  had  been  shaped  solely  that  they  two 
might  walk  therein  for  ever !  He  must  tell  her  of  his 
loneliness,  of  his  ambitions;  and  of  this,  his  greatest 
hope.  Desperately  in  haste,  he  scarce  could  wait  until 
the  train  pulled  up  at  the  little  station.  He  sprang 
off  on  the  side  opposite  from  the  station,  and  ran  up 
the  lane. 

Ah !  blind  one,  not  to  see,  not  to  feel,  not  to  know 
185 


186  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

that  the  dearest  dweller  of  the  Big  House  was  here, 
directly  at  hand  upon  the  platform,  unseen,  but  upon 
the  point  of  stepping  aboard  the  train  which  had 
brought  him,  and  which  was  now  to  carry  her  away. 
Miss  Lady,  laying  her  plans  well,  had  practically 
concealed  herself  until  the  very  moment  of  the  ar- 
rival of  the  train.  And  so  now  these  two  passed,  their 
feet  thereafter  running  far  apart. 

Colonel  Blount  received  his  guest  with  a  strikingly 
haggard  look  upon  his  face;  yet  at  first  he  made  no 
explanations.  He  saw  Eddring  glancing  round,  and 
knew  whom  he  sought. 

"She  isn't  here,"  the  planter  said  very  quietly,  and 
handed  him  the  note  which  he  had  but  a  few  mo- 
ments earlier  discovered.  Eddring 's  face  went  as 
bloodless  as  his  own  as  he  read  the  few  simple  lines. 

"What's  the  reason  of  this?"  he  cried  fiercely. 
"When  did  she  go?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Blount,  "unless  it  was  right 
now.  She  may  have  been  right  by  you— right  there 
at  the  train  for  all  I  know;  and  I  reckon  like  enough 
that's  just  how  it  happened." 

"Where's  Decherd?" 

"I  don't  know — gone  somewhere.  He  didn't  go 
with  her." 

"But  Mrs.  Ellison?" 


MISFORTUNE  187 

"She's  not  gone,"  said  Blount,  grimly,  "but  she's 
going.  I  don't  count  her  in  any  more.  Here's  the 
key  to  Mrs.  Ellison's  room.  It's  better  she  shouldn't 
see  any  one  this  morning." 

"But  Blount— why,  Cal,  my  friend— what  does 
all  this  mean?" 

"I  don't  know.  All  I  can  say  is,  hell's  broke  loose 
down  here." 

They  passed  down  the  hall  together  toward 
Blount 's  office  room. 

"By  the  way,"  said  the  latter,  "here's  a  telegram 
that  got  here  just  before  you  did.  It's  come  from 
the  city  on  a  repeat  order  and  must  have  passed  you 
on  your  way.  It 's  railroad  business,  I  reckon. ' ' 

Eddring  tore  open  the  sleazy  gray  envelope  and 
read  the  message.  His  face  was  hardened  into  deep 
lines  as  he  looked  up  at  his  friend,  and  without  com- 
ment handed  over  the  bit  of  paper.  The  message 
read  as  follows: 

"Eddring,  Division  Superintendent  Personal  In- 
jury Department,  :  You  are  temporarily  re- 
lieved duties  your  office  by  Allen,  of  Hillsboro,  pend- 
ing investigation  irregularities  charged  your  division. 
Strong  developments  of  claims  long  considered 
abated.  Letter.  Dix,  Agent." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment. 


188  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Blount  extended  his  hand,  and  Eddring,  gulping, 
took  it. 

"God!"  he  gasped,  as  he  looked  at  the  two  bits  of 
paper  in  his  hand.  "Did  more  wrong  and  misery 
ever  come  to  a  fellow  all  at  once  than  I've  got  here 
in  these?" 

"I  know  what  this  telegram  means,"  he  said,  "and 
it's  all  a  mistake.  In  a  week  or  so  I'd  have  put  the 
whole  thing  before  them.  But  now,  they  suspect  me 
of  being  a  thief,  and  I'll  never  work  another  day 
for  them,  exonerated  or  unexonerated. " 

"Well,  what  of  that?"  Blount  spoke  hotly. 
"You're  lucky  to  lose  that  job — I've  been  hoping  for 
a  long  time  that  cussed  railroad  would  fire  you. 
There's  bigger  things  in  the  world  for  you  than 
drudging  along  on  a  salary.  You  just  go  ahead  and 
set  up  office  for  yourself — fight  'em  every  chance  you 
get ;  give  'em  hell ;  I  '11  stake  you  till  you  get  on  your 
feet.  But  damn  it,  boy,  that's  not  what's  bother- 
ing me — it's  that  girl — she's  got  to  be  found." 

"She's  got  to  be  found,"  Eddring  repeated.  Even 
Calvin  Blount,  little  used  as  he  was  to  searching  be- 
neath the  surface,  knew  that  Eddring  had  ceased  to 
give  the  railroad  a  thought. 

Blount  looked  at  him  keenly. 


BOOK  II 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  MAKING  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 

In  the  northern  pine-lands  Father  Messasebe  mur- 
mured to  himself,  whispering  among  his  rush-en- 
vironed shores. 

"You  have  taken  from  me  my  own,"  murmured 
Father  Messasebe.  "You  have  swept  away  my  chil- 
dren. You  have  made  child's  roads  for  yourselves 
along  my  courses.  You  have  had  freedom  with  me, 
the  Father  of  the  Waters.  You,  small,  have  had  your 
liberties  with  me — with  me,  who  am  great,  ancient, 
abiding.  But  now,  since  you  have  taken  away  my  red 
wilderness,  I  shall  make  for  myself  a  black  wilderness. 
In  time  between  these  two  there  shall  lie  a  wilderness 
of  that  which  once  was  white!" 

And  so  Father  Messasebe,  the  mighty,  the  ancient, 
the  abiding,  called  upon  the  spirits  of  the  air,  which 
are  his  kin,  and  upon  the  spirits  of  the  earth,  which 
are  his  friends,  and  these  made  cause.  The  small 
drop  of  dew,  which  hung  upon  the  green  beard  of  the 

191 


192  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

wild  rice-plant,  dropped  down  into  the  hands  of 
Father  Messasebe.  It  did  not  tarry,  as  had  once  been 
its  wont,  upon  the  mossy  floor  of  the  wilderness,  but 
hastened  on.  It  met  rain-drops  shaken  from  the 
trees,  these  drops  also  hastening.  The  fountains, 
once  slow  and  deliberate  among  the  roots  of  the 
ancient  forest  floor,  tarried  not  now  upon  their  beds, 
but  hurried  on  to  join  the  dew  and  the  rain  in  a  great 
journeying.  The  ravaged  forest  gave  up  its  springs. 
The  brooks  ran  dry,  and  left  barren  the  penetralia 
of  the  tamaracks  and  cedars.  All  these  hurried  on, 
little  flow  meeting  little  flow,  and  they  joining  yet 
others;  and  so  finally  a  great  flood  joined  itself  to 
others  great,  and  this  volume  coursed  on  through 
lake  and  channel,  and  surged  along  all  the  root-shot 
banks  of  the  great  upper  water-ways. 

The  floods  passed  on,  making  a  merriment  which 
grew  more  savage  and  exultant.  The  scarred  and 
whitening  trees  stood  silent,  watching  the  waters 
pass:  and  the  round  hills  smiled  not  as  their  feet 
were  washed  high  with  the  hurrying  floods.  And  when 
Father  Messasebe  at  length  came  into  the  country 
where  tall  hills  stood,  neither  did  these  hills  pro- 
test, but  joined  in  that  which  was  now  forward,  and 
sent  down  red  and  gray  and  brown  trickles  of  their 
own  to  augment  the  tawny  waters.  And  then  the 


THE  MAKING  OF  THE  WILDERNESS    193 

country  of  low  hills,  which  had  no  trees,  sent  out  its 
sluggish  streams  also,  across  the  deep  loam-lands,  to 
stain  still  further  the  once  clean  stream  of  Messasebe. 
And  word  went  abroad  that  Father  Messasebe  had 
rebelled — word  that  reached  the  white-topped  moun- 
tains far  in  the  West;  and  these  mountains,  loyal, 
sent  their  white  waters  down  until  they,  too,  grew 
red,  but  still  tarried  not,  and  rolled  on  to  meet  the 
general  stream.  And  the  green  mountains  in  the 
East,  also  loyal,  sent  their  floods  as  well ;  until  Father 
Messasebe,  having  gathered  all  his  armies,  marched  on 
and  on,  to  make  anew  a  wilderness  of  his  own. 

Thus  the  floods  came  at  length  to  a  wide  land 
covered  with  great  trees,  a  land  deep  and  rich,  filled 
with  all  manner  of  growing  and  brooding  things;  a 
land  of  fat  soil  carried  thither  no  one  knows  whence ; 
a  land  apart  and  prepared.  So  Messasebe,  having 
traveled  many  miles,  came  to  a  country  inhabited  by 
the  slow  snake,  by  the  otter,  and  the  beaver,  the 
panther,  the  deer,  the  bear — many  children  whom  he 
long  had  loved. 

Along  the  edge  of  this  lower  land  there  ran  low 
earthen  fences  made  by  the  white  man,  who  had  laid 
claim  upon  the  kingdom  of  the  Father  of  the  Floods 
— vainly-builded  fences  of  earth,  hopelessly  seeking 
to  hedge  out  the  imperious  flow  of  Messasebe,  the 


194  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ancient,  the  enduring.  Father  Messasebe,  seeing  these 
things,  called  back  to  the  following  legions  of  his 
children  that  here  was  time  for  sport.  And  all  the 
waters  laughed  loud  and  long,  dallying  with  their 
prey. 

"In  the  North  they  have  robbed  me,"  said  Father 
Messasebe  to  his  legions.  "Here  in  the  South  they 
would  bind  me.  Ho !  now  for  the  game  of  letting  in 
the  floods,  of  making  anew  my  wilderness. 

"For  a  wilderness,"  said  Father  Messasebe,  "the 
world  has  ever  had.  And  whether  gentle  overpower 
barbarian,  or  barbarian  in  turn  overcast  the  gentle, 
always  there  will  be  a  wilderness,  and  out  of  it  will 
come  combat. 

"But  the  World  is  ancient  and  abiding,"  said 
Father  Messasebe  to  his  children,  "and  the  World 
cares  no  whit  for  those  things  sometimes  called  good 
and  new.  In  the  years,  that  which  is  new  becomes 
old.  Only  the  World  and  its  children  endure.  Only 
the  old  prevails.  Only  the  wilderness,  and  the  com- 
bat of  weak  and  strong,  remain  for  ever. 

"And  at  all  combat,"  said  Father  Messasebe  to 
his  children,  "the  World  smiles,  knowing  that  the 
strong  must  win ;  and  knowing  that  in  time  the  strong 
will  become  weak.  Wherefore  let  us  build  our  wil- 
derness for  a  time,  like  to  that  which  will  one  day 


THE  MAKING  OF  THE  WILDERNESS    195 

rise  again  along  all  my  shores,  great  trees  growing 
where  cities  are  to-day. 

"Only  in  the  ages,"  said  Father  Messasebe  to  his 
children, ' '  do  the  weak  come  to  be  the  strong.  Where- 
fore must  the  strong  prevail,  each  in  his  own  day. 
It  is  the  Law!" 


BOOK  HI 


CHAPTER  I 

EDDRING,  AGENT  OF  CLAIMS 

Some  three  years  subsequent  to  that  mysterious 
departure  of  Miss  Lady  in  search  of  a  world  beyond 
the  rim  of  the  confining  forest,  there  sat  in  his  office, 
one  fine  morning  in  June,  no  less  a  person  than  John 
Eddring,  formerly  claim  agent  of  the  Y.  V.  railway. 
Eddring  looked  older,  more  wearied.  He  seemed 
disappointed  in  his  years  of  fruitless  search,  in  the 
following  of  false  clues,  in  the  death  of  new  hopes. 
And  yet  from  the  man's  clear  eye  there  shone  a  cer- 
tain grim  comfort  of  accomplishment. 

He  was  now  surrounded,  as  before,  with  the  cus- 
tomary paraphernalia  of  a  business  office.  A  few 
desks,  a  cabinet  letter-file,  a  typewriter  stand  or  two, 
a  chart,  a  picture  askew  upon  the  wall — this  might 
still  have  been  the  office  of  the  Y.  V.  railway.  Indeed, 
there  was  printed  upon  the  office  door  the  modest  sign, 
"John  Eddring,  Agent  of  Claims." 

Yet  this  was  no  longer  the  office  of  Eddring,  claim 
199 


200  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

agent  of  the  railway.  There  had  been  change.  Ed- 
dring,  agent  of  claims,  was  in  business  for  himself, 
and  upon  the  other  side  of  the  pretty  game  of  cross 
purposes.  That  which  he  had  taken  for  calamity 
had  proved  good  fortune.  The  world  had  loved  him, 
even  as  it  tried  him.  The  advice  of  his  old  mother  he 
had  discovered  to  be  almost  prophetic.  At  last  he 
found  himself  making  use  of  that  legal  profession 
which  had  formerly  been  but  one  of  the  adjuncts  of 
his  earlier  occupation.  He  had  opened  office  for  him- 
self, and  now  paid  service  to  no  man. 

Eddring  had  made  it  his  especial  care,  from  the 
beginning  of  this  work,  to  undertake  that  less  es- 
teemed branch  of  the  law  which  has  to  do  with  the 
collection  of  claims,  and,  naturally  or  by  choice,  he 
found  himself  concerned  more  commonly  with  the 
claims  of  the  weak  against  the  strong.  Collection 
law  is  little  esteemed  as  against  the  better  paid  and 
vaster  practice  of  the  corporation  law;  yet  Eddring 
had  succeeded.  To  his  own  surprise,  and  that  of 
others,  he  began  to  find  his  humble  way  of  life 
pleasant  and  desirable.  His  business  had  widened 
rapidly,  and,  to  his  own  wonder,  now  began  to  offer 
him  a  view  into  wide  avenues  of  employment.  Occu- 
pied not  only  with  many  minor  matters,  but  with 
more  considerable  prosecutions,  John  Eddring,  agent 


EDDRING,  AGENT  OF  CLAIMS          201 

of  claims,  was  possessor  of  a  business  yielding  him 
four-fold  the  yearly  value  of  his  former  salary  on  the 
Y.  V.  road. 

As  to  the  latter,  it  had  promptly  withdrawn 
charges  which  presently  it  found  impossible  to  prove. 
The  head  men  of  the  railway  were  keen  enough, 
after  all.  They  studied  the  growing  list  of  judg- 
ments collected  against  the  road  throughout  the 
Delta  country,  but  they  could  find  no  trace  of  John 
Eddring  behind  these  claims.  No  system  of  detec- 
tives, no  hired  espionage  could  belie  the  truth. 
Finally  convinced,  they  did  the  unusual  and  some- 
what handsome  thing  of  writing  their  former  claim 
agent  a  full  letter  of  apology  and  of  asking  his  return 
to  his  late  employment,  at  a  salary  precisely  double 
that  which  he  had  resigned.  Eddring  had  replied  to 
this  that,  though  agent  of  claims,  he  could  not  find  it 
in  his  heart  to  serve  as  a  corporation  claim  agent. 
So,  he  had  labored  on,  prosperous  to  a  just  extent, 
and  happy  as  only  that  man  can  be  who  finds  work 
which  gives  him  delight  in  the  doing,  and  which 
offers  a  future  built  upon  the  honest  accomplishment 
of  the  present. 

On  this  morning  Eddring,  humming  contentedly 
as  he  went  about  his  work  at  the  humble  desk  before 
him,  heard  a  knock  and  a  shuffling  tread  which  by 


202  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

instinct  he  knew  belonged  to  some  member  of  the 
colored  race.  "Come  in,"  said  he,  without  look- 
ing up. 

"Good  mawnin',  Mas'  Edd'ern,"  said  the  new- 
comer. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  Jack?"  said  Eddring.  "Well, 
come  in." 

Jack  by  profession  was  a  local  expressman,  owner 
of  a  rickety  wagon  and  a  tumble-down  mule.  He 
was  coffee-colored  in  complexion.  His  feet  projected 
quaintly  behind  as  well  as  in  front.  His  lips  pro- 
jected also,  as  did  his  eyes,  wide-rimmed  and  bulg- 
ing. His  trousers  were  too  long  for  him,  and  his  coat 
hung  limp  from  his  stooped  shoulders.  His  speech 
was  low  and  soft.  Not  an  heroic  figure,  you  would 
have  said,  yet,  as  it  seemed,  a  person  possessed  of  a 
certain  history. 

"Where  did  you  come  from,  Jack?"  said  Eddring. 
"I  thought  you  were  in  jail  up  at  Jackson." 

"No,  sah,  Mas'  Edd'ern,"  replied  Jack.  "Dem 
folks  up  thah  never  did  put  me  in  jail  at  all.  I  got 
tired  of  it,  an'  at  las'  I  jest  walked  on  home." 

As  to  the  case  of  Jack,  there  had  recently  been 
enacted,  on  the  public  square  of  this  southern  city, 
a  tawdry  little  tragedy  in  brown  and  coffee  color, 
having  to  do  with  the  fascinations  of  a  certain 


EDDRING,  AGENT  OF  CLAIMS          203 

damsel  known  in  her  own  circles  as  the  "gold-tooth 
girl."  The  latter  had,  in  her  earlier  days,  drifted 
northward,  where  she  had  learned  many  things, 
among  these  the  fact  that  the  white  race  is  exceed- 
ingly difficult  to  imitate,  desirable  though  such  imi- 
tation may  seem.  The  mistress  of  Sally  chanced  to 
be  the  possessor  of  a  gold-crowned  tooth,  and  nothing 
would  do  Sally  herself  except  the  same  ornament. 
Having  persuaded  a  dentist  to  sacrifice  one  of  her 
splendid  bits  of  ivory,  she  became  so  enamored  of  her 
own  dazzling  smile  that  perforce  she  must  return 
again  to  the  South,  where  such  radiance  would  in  all 
likelihood  meet  with  a  better  reception.  To  such 
charms  it  was  small  wonder  that  Jack,  a  man  of 
certain  solidity  and  stability  of  business  among  his 
kind,  should  have  fallen  victim.  Jack  and  Sally  had 
lived  together  some  six  months  before  Jack  had  come 
into  Mr.  Eddring's  office  and  asked  for  the  loan  of 
a  six-shooter.  This  latter  he  had  returned  a  couple 
of  hours  later,  with  the  calm  remark  that  he  had  just 
shot  a  "yaller  nigger"  who  had  been  "pesterin' 
'round  his  wife."  Jack's  arrest  and  trial  followed 
quickly.  Eddring,  out  of  friendship,  took  his  case, 
and  promptly  lost  it,  it  being  the  argument  of  the 
prosecuting  attorney  that  "we  can't  have  shooting 
here  on  the  streets  by  niggers,"  .  Pending  the  argu- 


204  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ment  for  a  new  trial,  Jack  had  been  sent  to  Jackson 
jail,  where  he  met  with  the  difficulty  of  one  for 
whom  there  seems  to  be  no  place  in  the  social  system. 
"Dem  white  folks  up  thah  never  would  let  me  in 
jail  at  all,"  said  he,  complainingly.  "When  I  got 
thah,  de  jailah  man  and  his  wife  wuz  right  sick,  and 
dey  warn't  no  one  to  take  care  o'  things.  I  ain't 
bad  at  nussin'  folks,  so  I  jest  turned  in  an'  nussed 
dat  jailah  man  an'  his  folks  fer  'bout  six  weeks. 
I  soht  o'  run  dat  jail,  up  dah,  fer  a  while,  myself. 
De  jailah  was  too  po'ly  to  enjoy  wu'kkin'  vehy 
hahd,  so  I  tuk  de\  keys,  an'  when  dey  didn't  need 
me  at  nights,  ovah  at  his  house,  I  allus  locked  myse'f 
in  reg'lar  every  night,  so's  to  feel  I  wuz  doin'  right, 
you  know.  In  de  mawnin',  right  early,  I  made  break- 
fast foh  dem,  an'  fix  dem  up  like.  Fin'lly,  dey  got 
well,  an'  I  give  de  keys  to  de  jailah  er  de  she 'iff,  er 
whoever  he  wuz,  and  I  sez  I  reckon  he  bettah  lock 
me  up  now,  and  he  sez  to  me,  'Go  long,  you  damn 
nigger,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  lock  you  up  at  all.  I 
couldn't,'  says  he  to  me.  It  looks  like  dere  ain't  no 
place  fer  a  nigger." 

'Well,  Jack,"  suggested  Eddring,  trying  not  to 
smile,  "why  don't  you  walk  across  the  bridge  there, 
over  into  Arkansas,  and  get  clear  of  this  whole  thing 
for  good?" 


EDDRING,  AGENT  OF  CLAIMS  205 

"Now,  Mas'  Edd'ern,  whut  makes  you  talk  like 
dat?  You  know  I  wouldn'  do  dat  an'  leave  you 
heah,  'sponsible  fer  me." 

"Well,"  said  Eddring,  "in  some  ways  your  case 
does  seem  a  little  irregular,  but  perhaps  the  court 
would  fix  it  up  now  and  let  you  stay  right  where  you 
are.  You  go  and  get  your  mule  and  wagon,  if  you 
can  find  them,  and  go  to  work  again.  I'll  see  Judge 
Baines  this  evening,  and  tell  him  just  what  you  have 
told  me.  Go  on,  now.  I  suppose  you  are  going  to 
take  that  woman  back  to  live  with  you?" 

"Oh,  yessah.  I  kain't  help  dat  nohow.  I  done 
licked  her  dis  mawnin',  fust  thing  I  done.  She's  a 
heap  more  humble  and  con-trite  now." 

At  this  Eddring  grumbled  and  turned  back  to  his 
work.  Still  Jack  hesitated.  A  certain  gravity  sat 
on  his  face. 

"Mas'  Edd'ern,"  said  he,  finally,  "kin  you  tell  me 
why  de  rivah  is  out  all  ovah  de  Ian'  down  below,  and 
why  dere's  so  many  people  wu'kkin'  tryin'  to  stop  de 
breaks?" 

"No,"  said  Eddring.  "I  know  there's  a  big  over- 
flow, and  it's  getting  worse." 

"Mas'  Edd'ern,"  said  Jack,  stepping  close  to  him, 
"dar's  been  a  heap  of  devil-ment  to  wu'k  down  dah." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?" 


206  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"I  knows  a  heap  about  it.  De  niggers  all  over 
in  dah  is  gittin'  mighty  bad.  Now,  my  wife  she 
done  tol'  me  dat  dis  mawnin', — she's  a-feelin'  mighty 
con-trite." 

"What  did  she  tell  you  about  it?" 

"Well,  Mas'  Edd'ern,  you  know,  sah,  dere's  a  heap 
o'  things  about  black  folks  dat  white  folks  kain't 
understand  an'  nevah  will.  You  know  fer  ovah  fifty 
yeahs  black  folks  has  been  thinkin'  sometime  dey'd 
run  dis  country.  All  de  time  dere's  some  'ligious 
doctah,  or  preacheh  or  other,  tellin'  dem  dat.  Now, 
dat  sort  o'  thing  been  goin'  on  down  dah  fer  long 
while.  Dere's  a  sort  o'  woman,  conjuh  woman, 
'mongst  dem.  Dey  call  her  de  Queen  now. 

"Now,  while  I  wuz  up  at  Jackson,  my  wife  she 
done  had  a  heap  o'  truck  wid  dem  niggers  f 'om  down 
in  dah.  My  wife  tol'  me  all  about  dis  yer  Queen. 
She  tol'  me  all  about  the  devil-ment  dat's  been  goin' 
on  and  is  a-gwine  to  go  on  down  in  dat  country. 
Hit's  right  in  whah  Gunnel  Blount  lives.  I've  knowed 
for  yeahs,  o'  co'se,  how  frien'ly  you  two  is  to  each 
otheh.  Now,  Mas'  Edd'ern,  you've  been  right  good 
to  me.  I  dess  thought — seein'  dat  I  couldn't  pay 
you  nohow — I'd  tell  you  dis  heah,  and  you  could  do 
whut  you  liked.  De  trufe  is,  niggers  down  heah  been 
gittin'  mighty  biggoty  lately,  dey  get  so  much  'cour- 


EDDRING,  AGENT  OF  CLAIMS          207 

agement  f'om  up  Norf.  Massa  Edd'ern,  dey  sho'ly 
do  think  dey  gwine  ter  run  dis  country  atter  while. 
0'  co'se  every  nigger  whut's  got  any  sense  knows 
different  f'om  dat,  but  it  seem  like  dey  allus  wuz 
a  heap  o'  triflin'  niggers  whut  ain't  willin'  to  wu*k, 
but  is  willin'  to  make  trouble.  I  dess  thought  I'd 
tell  you  'bout  dis  heah." 

Eddring  turned  at  his  desk  for  a  moment.  "Take 
this  over  to  the  telegraph  office  at  once,  Jack,"  said 
he.  "It's  a  message  to  Colonel  Blount.  I  want  to 
see  him;  and  I  want  you  to  stay  around,  so  I  can 
get  you  when  he  comes  up." 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  OPINIONS  OF  CALVIN  BLOUNT 

It  was  nearly  noon  of  the  following  day  before 
Colonel  Calvin  Blount,  in  response  to  the  summons 
of  Eddring,  presented  himself  at  the  office  of  the 
latter.  He  was  Calvin  Blount  grown  still  more 
gaunt  and  gray  and  grizzled,  though  his  eye  lacked 
nothing  of  its  accustomed  fire.  He  seated  himself, 
and  cast  one  long  leg  across  the  other,  as  he  threw 
his  hat  into  a  chair,  in  response  to  Eddring 's  invita- 
tion. 

"First,"  said  Eddring,  "tell  me  about  yourself. 
It  has  been  quite  a  while  since  I  've  been  down  at  your 
place,  hasn't  it?" 

""Well,  as  to  the  place,"  replied  Blount,  "it's 
pretty  much  gone  to  pieces.  You  know  my  idea  is 
that  the  chief  end  of  man  is  to  go  b'ah  hunting,  and 
he  oughtn't  to  be  guilty  of  contributory  negligence 
by  staying  at  home  too  much.  There's  been  no  one 
to  run  the  place,  and  I  haven't  cared.  Least  said 
about  it,  the  best,  I  reckon." 

"Who  is  your  housekeeper  now?"  asked  Eddring. 
208 


THE  OPINIONS  OF  CALVIN  BLOUNT    209 

"No  one,  unless  you  call  it  that  girl  Delphine  that 
used  to  work  for  Mrs.  Ellison.  She  came  back  there 
a  while  ago,  and  said  she  hadn't  any  place  to  live, 
and  wanted  to  go  to  work,  so  I  told  her  to  take  hold. 
I  don't  care.  I've  been  livin'  out  in  the  woods  most 
of  the  time.  There's  more  b'ahs  now  than  you  ever 
did  see.  You  ought  to  come  down  and  have  a  hunt. 
The  high  water  has  driven  'em  all  up  to  the  ridges, 
and  we  can  just  get  all  of  'em  we  want." 

""Well,  I  like  to  hunt  once  in  a  while,"  said 
Eddring,  placing  the  tips  of  his  fingers  together 
judicially,  "but,  you  see,  I'm  a  poor  man,  and  I 
have  to  do  a  little  work  once  in  a  while.  Now,  you've 
got  that  big  plantation  of  yours — " 

"Plantation!"  snorted  Blount;  "yes,  about  half 
my  fields  are  grown  up  in  sassafras  brush.  I  rented 
out  a  thousand  acres  to  the  best  niggers  I  had,  and  I 
give  'em  mules  and  machinery  and  a  stake  at  the 
store,  and  I  told  'em  to  go  ahead,  and  we'd  split 
even  at  the  end  of  the  year.  It's  no  use.  I've  got 
to  begin  all  over  again,  the  same  as  I  did  when  I 
first  started  in  there.  It  don't  take  long  for  that 
country  to  slide  back  into  brush,  if  you  don't  keep 
after  it.  It  would  be  cane  and  sassafras  and  cat 
briers  all  over  to-day,  so  far  as  the  niggers  are  con- 
cerned. Why,  man,  if  you  opened  the  gates  of  Heaven 


210  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

and  showed  them  to  Mr.  Nigger,  you  couldn't  get 
him  in,  unless  you  kicked  him  in." 

"You  don't  seem  exactly  in  accord  with  the  mod- 
ern idea  of  uplifting  the  colored  race,  this  morning, 
do  you,  Colonel?" 

"No,  I  don't.  Now,  I  wish  our  friends  from  the 
North  would  do  one  of  two  things,  either  leave  Mr. 
Nigger  alone,  or  else  take  him  up  North,  and  live  with 
him  themselves.  You  know  what  happened  down  at 
my  place  last  month?" 

"No,  anything  new?" 

"No,  nothing  new,  only  another  one  of  them  in- 
vestigatin'  parties  from  up  North.  They  had  a  good 
fat  new  educator,  half -nigger,  half -white,  this  time — 
educated  a  heap  more'n  I  am.  He  was  the  king  bee 
in  that  lot  of  evangelizers  and  elevators.  Well,  I 
took  them  out  over  my  farms  and  showed  them  the 
sassafras  shoots  coming  up  where  the  cotton  ought  to 
be.  'Gentlemen,'  said  I,  'here's  an  instance  of  what 
an  intelligent  and  industrious  race  can  do.  Here's 
the  best  plantation  in  the  Delta  turned  over  to  these 
people  to  make  or  break.  This  is  the  richest  soil  in 
the  world.  They  had  half  of  all  they  could  raise, 
and  they  had  their  living  guaranteed  them.  Nobody 
guarantees  me  a  living,  not  even  God  A  'mighty.  They 
didn't  put  up  a  dollar,  nor  an  ounce  of  brains,  nor 


THE  OPINIONS  OF  CALVIN  BLOUNT    211 

a  bit  of  worry.  Now,  did  they  work,  or  did  they  sit 
in  the  shade  and  loaf?  You  look  around  and  tell 
me.' 

"The  big  half -white  man  began  to  preach  to  me, 
and  I  says  to  him,  'Before  you  go  on,  I  just  want  to 
ask  you  two  questions.  First,  how  much  of  you  is 
nigger,  and  how  much  is  white?  Second,  do  you 
want  to  quit  running  a  college  up  North,  and  come 
down  here  and  take  hold  of  this  plantation,  and  so 
help  out  three  hundred  fellow-citizens  of  yours  who 
are  a  heap  more  interested  in  the  nigger  question  than 
you  are  yourself?'  I  asked  that  fellow  that.  That's 
when  he  shrunk  some." 

Eddring  smiled,  but  it  was  a  serious  smile,  for  the 
South  has  small  inclination  to  jest  over  questions  such 
as  these. 

"Well,  about  all  the  fellow  could  do  was  to  fall 
back  on  his  old  song  about  education  uplifting  the 
race.  'That's  all  right,'  I  said  to  him.  'I'll  pay 
my  share  of  that.  But  we've  got  to  wait  until  your 
millennium  comes.  It's  DO  use  saying  it  has  come, 
when  it  hasn't.  It's  going  to  take  a  long  time  before 
you  get  the  real  useful  educating  done. ' 

"I  got  riled,  talking  to  him,  and  at  last  I  called  up 
one  of  my  field  hands— he  had  ruined  twenty  acres  of 
the  best  cotton  land  I  had— and  I  took  him  by  the 


212  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ear  and  pulled  out  a  bunch  of  his  hair.  Said  I  to 
him,  'Sam,  is  your  hair  like  mine?  "Would  it  ever 
get  like  mine?'  'No,  boss,'  said  he,  'not  in  a  hun- 
dred yeahs.'  He  laughed  at  me. 

"Then  I  said  to  that  white  fellow  from  the  North, 
'  How  hard  do  you  work  ?  I  want  to  know  that. '  He 
began  to  swell  up  a  little  at  that.  Well,  I  put  it  to 
him  this  way.  Says  I,  '  There  was  a  man  came  down 
through  here  a  few  years  ago,  and  he  got  plumb  rich. 
He  told  all  these  poor  black  people  all  around  that 
for  fifty  cents  he'd  sell  them  a  bottle  of  stuff  that 
would  make  their  hair  straight  like  a  white  man's, 
in  less'n  a  month.  He  always  put  it  about  a  month 
ahead,  so  that  he'd  have  time  to  get  away.  Now, 
that  hair  tonic  man  was  what  I  call  a  professional 
benefactor  of  the  nigger  race,'  said  I.  'He  got  paid 
for  it,  just  the  same  as  you  do.  And,'  says  I,  'he'll 
straighten  out  their  hair  with  his  hair  tonic  just 
about  as  soon  as  you'll  straighten  out  their  problem 
with  your  particular  kind  of  ointment— for  which 
you  are  getting  better  paid  than  he  did.' 

"That  riled  the  fellow  plenty,  but  I  went  on 
talking  to  him.  '  The  only  difference  between  you  and 
him,'  says  I  to  him,  'is  that  he  was  whole  white  and 
was  running  a  straight  bluff,  and  you  are  part  white, 
and  are  running  a  half-way  sort  of  bluff.  You  pray 


THE  OPINIONS  OF  CALVIN  BLOUNT    213 

to  God  A 'mighty  so  much  about  this  that  you  have 
just  about  got  yourself  half -persuaded  that  you're 
honest.  Do  you  reckon  that  you  have  got  God 
A 'mighty  persuaded  that  way,  too?'  said  I  to  him. 
"That  made  an  awful  disturbance  in  the  evangel- 
izing and  elevating  outfit,  and  finally  I  got  out  of 
patience.  Says  I  to  them,  'I  don't  want  to  forget 
that  you  are  visitors  at  my  place.  You  white  folks 
can  come  to  my  table,  if  you  want  to,  or  you  can 
eat  with  the  oppressed  and  downtrodden  out  in  my 
kitchen,  if  you  like  that  better.  Your  fellow-citizen, 
with  the  specialty  of  elevating  the  downtrodden, 
can't  eat  at  my  table.  After  you  get  it  fixed  up  the 
way  that  suits  you  best,  and  have  had  your  dinner, 
I  want  you-all  to  go  out  and  take  one  more  look  at 
the  sassafras  that's  growing  on  as  fine  a  cotton  land 
as  ever  lay  out  of  doors.  If  you  can  elevate  my 
niggers  so  that  they'll  work,  why  go  ahead  and  do 
it.  God  knows  they  need  it.  Learn  'em  geometry, 
learn  'em  to  write  poetry,  send  'em  to  Europe  to 
learn  painting,  but  please  put  somewhere  in  your 
college  a  department  showing  how  to  dig  up  stumps 
and  chop  sassafras  roots.  You'll  pardon  me,'  says 
I,  'for  I'm  a  plain  man;  but  I  just  want  to  say  that 
that's  the  kind  of  elevating  that  the  black  race  in 
America  needs  most.  But  whatever  you  do,  don't  be 


214  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

foolish.  Don't  say  to  me  that  that's  done  which  you 
and  I  both  know  ain't  done.'  ' 

Both  Eddring  and  Blount  were  silent  for  a  time. 
' '  Those  folks  stayed  in  around  our  country  for  quite  a 
while, ' '  resumed  Blount,  ' '  and  they  succeeded  in  stir- 
ring up  the  niggers  to  thinking  that  they  were  not 
getting  a  square  deal,  but  ought  to  break  into  politics 
once  more.  A  few  of  us  planters  got  together,  and  we 
were  so  stirred  up  about  it  that  we  thought  we  would 
do  something  right  funny.  Our  county  election  was 
coming  on,  and  you  know  we  have  got  about  ten  black 
voters  to  one  white  down  there.  Under  the  Constitu- 
tion we  couldn't  elect  a  white  man  down  there  in  a 
hundred  years— not  if  we  followed  the  Constitution. 
This  time,  just  for  a  joke— but  listen— do  you  know 
what  we  did?" 

"Well,  it's  pretty  hard  to  tell  just  what  Cal 
Blount  would  do,  sometimes,"  said  Eddring,  "but 
I  don't  doubt  you  did  something  foolish." 

"No,  we  didn't.  We  just  had  a  joke.  We  let  them 
elect  a  nigger  sheriff  for  Tullahoma  County !  We  just 
'lowed  we'd  give  'em  a  touch  of  law  as  a  sort  of 
object  lesson  to  the  Northern  elevators.  Thought 
we'd  take  a  shot  at  the  educating  business  ourselves. 
The  fellow's  name  is  Mose  Taylor,  and  say!  he's  the 
tickledest  nigger  you  ever  did  see!  He's  about  half- 


THE  OPINIONS  OF.  CALVIN  BLOUNT    215 

white,  too,  and  he  always  did  want  to  break  into  poli- 
tics one  way  or  another.  Now,  he's  done  broke  in. 
We  let  him,  just  for  a  joke.  Of  course,  when  there's 
any  need  for  a  real  sheriff,  we  white  people  allow 
that  we'll  have  to  use  the  old  one — Jim  Peters." 

"Well,  these  things  aren't  always  just  exactly  the 
best  kind  of  jokes,"  said  Eddring.  "You  have  been 
having  nothing  but  trouble  down  there  for  a  long 
time." 

"Trouble!"  said  Blount,  "I  should  say  we  have. 
We've  tried  to  keep  it  a  white  man's  country,  but 
it's  been  a  fight  every  day  of  the  year.  Niggers  stole 
and  killed  all  the  cattle  of  my  neighbors  down  in 
there,  and  we  hung  two  or  three  niggers  last  month 
for  stealing  cows.  We  put  a  sign  on  them,  'You 
stole  a  cow,  cow  killed  you.'  You've  got  to  make 
things  sort  of  plain,  you  know,  to  these  people,  so's 
they  can  understand  'em.  Now,  you  know  the  trouble 
we  had  down  there  about  that  train  wreck.  It's 
morally  sure  the  niggers  were  at  the  bottom  of  that, 
one  way  or  another.  That  ain't  all.  I  told  you  we 
were  having  a  big  overflow  now.  Well,  the  fact  is, 
we  found  out  a  day  or  so  ago  that  this  overflow  is 
mostly  hand-made.  They've  been  cutting  the  lev- 
ees—" 

"Blount,"  said  Eddring,  quietly,  "that's  just  why 


216  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

I  telegraphed  you  to  come  up  here.  I've  got  a  boy 
here  who  knows  about  the  whole  proposition.  They're 
organizing,  as  sure  as  you're  born,  and  they've  got  a 
leader.  They've  got  a  Queen,  they  say." 

"A  Queen!"  snorted  Blount,  jumping  to  his  feet. 
"Queen,  eh?  Well,  now!  you  look  here,  if  we  ever 
do  get  hold  of  that  Queen,  I  want  to  tell  you,  she'll 
have  the  uneasiest  head  that  ever  did  wear  any  kind 
of  crown.  Queen,  eh!" 

"And  you've  got  a  nigger  sheriff  now!  Fine  ma- 
chinery for  the  law  to  have  in  that  part  of  the  Delta 
just  at  this  time,  isn't  it?" 

"Sheriff!  What  do  we  need  of  a  sheriff,  if  we 
get  down  to  the  bottom  of  this  devilment?  We 
have  got  to  put  it  down,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it, 
as  you  know  very  well.  There's  no  two  ways  about 
it.  These  disturbances,  most  of  them  due  to  politics, 
have  upset  our  whole  country.  Now,  it  is  for  us 
to  set  it  right  again.  We've  got  to  cut  politics  out, 
and  get  down  to  common  sense,  down  to  business. 
The  South  can't  wait  for  ever  on  politics,  Northern 
or  Southern.  This  country 's  bigger  than  politics,  and 
bigger  than  politicians.  You  know  we  can  count  on 
every  white  man  in  my  part  of  the  Delta.  Can  we 
count  on  you?" 

Eddring  hesitated,  but  finally  looked  his  friend  in 


THE  OPINIONS  OF  CALVIN  BLOUNT    217 

the  face.  "I'm  a  white  man,"  said  he.  Blount  went 
on. 

"What  you  tell  me  is  not  altogether  news.  We're 
going  after  these  people,  and  we're  going  to  put  an 
end  to  this  thing  once  for  all.  We  're  going  to  have  a 
country.  Now,  we  want  as  large  a  number  of  white 
gentlemen  as  possible.  We  will  want  you. 

"Now,  no  matter  what  you  are  doing,  or  where  you 
are,  will  you  come  when  I  send  for  you?" 

Eddring  repeated  simply,  "I  am  a  white  man, 
too." 

"It's  for  the  law,  Eddring— for  the  country." 

"Yes.    I  think  it's  for  the  law." 


CHAPTER  III 

REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON 

"Come  out  and  eat  with  me,  Cal,"  said  Eddring. 
"I've  some  other  matters  to  put  before  you.  A  great 
many  things  have  been  so  confused  in  my  mind  that 
I  have  hardly  known  where  to  begin  to  straighten 
them  out." 

"I  reckon  you've  got  some  new  lawsuit  or  other 
on  your  hands,"  said  Blount. 

"You're  right.  At  least  it  may  be  a  lawsuit,  and 
it  certainly  bids  fair  to  be  a  puzzling  study,  lawsuit 
or  not." 

After  they  were  seated  at  table  in  an  adjoining 
cafe,  Eddring  tossed  over  to  his  friend  a  late  copy 
of  a  New  Orleans  newspaper.  "You  see  that  head- 
line?" said  he.  "It's  all  about  a  dancer,  Miss  Louise 
Loisson.  You  ever  hear  that  name  before?" 

"Why,  no,  I  don't  seem  to  remember  it,  if  I  ever 
did." 

"Well,  that  name  is  bothering  me  mightily  just 
now.  You  know  something  of  the  history  of  those 
old  Y.  V.  damage  judgments,  after  I  left  the  road?" 

218 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON          219 

"Yes,  I  reckon  I  heard  something  about  it.  Some 
one  seems  to  have  got  hold  of  the  list  of  claims,  and 
pushed  them  for  all  they  were  worth.  Of  course,  I 
know  you  hadn't  anything  to  do  with  that." 

"It  was  an  odd  sort  of  thing,"  said  Eddring,  "and 
it  has  led  up  to  a  number  of  other  things  still  more 
strange.  Now,  no  one  knows  how  that  information 
regarding  the  claims  got  out.  I  told  you  that  I  found 
that  complete  list  of  the  claims  in  the  valise  of  the 
mysterious  man,  Mr.  Thompson,  who  was  killed  in  the 
train  wreck  at  your  place.  Of  course  I  turned  over 
all  this  material  to  the  company  at  once.  But  there 
must  have  been  a  duplicate  list  out  somewhere.  I  had 
my  own  suspicions.  I  knew,  or  thought  I  knew,  why 
the  dogs  ran  that  trail  right  up  to  your  house.  Here's 
one  reason  I  had  for  that."  He  threw  on  the  table 
before  Blount  a  soiled  and  wrinkled  bit  of  linen,  the 
same  mysterious  handkerchief  which  he  had  put  in 
his  pocket  at  the  train  wreck  long  ago. 

"Did  you  ever  see  that  before?"  asked  he.  Blount 
sat  up  straighter  and  looked  closely  at  the  object,  but 
shook  his  head. 

"It  might  be  Delphine's,"  said  Eddring.  At  this 
the  other  man  shut  his  mouth  hard  and  his  face  grew 
suddenly  serious. 

"Now,  I  say  I  had  suspicions,"  resumed  Eddring. 


220  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"That  list  of  claims  was  never  written  out  by  that 
traveling  man,  Thompson.  It  might  have  been  done 
by  Henry  Decherd,  might  it  not?" 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Nothing,  except  that  I  believe  those  papers  were 
in  Henry  Decherd 's  valise.  In  fact,  I  know  it.  He 
did  not  want  to  claim  the  valise  when  he  saw  that  I 
had  it.  This  letter  might  very  possibly  have  been 
written  by  Delphine  to  Decherd.  See  here."  He 
placed  before  Blount  the  unsigned  letter  which  he 
had  preserved  ever  since  the  time  of  its  discovery. 
Blount  read  it  through  in  silence,  flushing  a  bit  to 
see  his  own  name  mentioned  by  a  servant  in  such 
connection;  but  without  comment  he  looked  quietly 
at  Eddring,  now  eager  in  the  instinct  of  the  chase. 

"I'll  tell  you  frankly,  Cal,"  said  the  latter,  "I 
guessed  all  along  that  these  two  were  concerned  in  all 
this  business,  but  I  couldn't  speak.  I  didn't  dare 
tell  my  suspicions  when  I  had  no  better  proof  than 
was  possible  to  get  at  that  time.  I  didn't  want  to 
tell  the  sheriff.  I  didn't  dare  tell  even  you  what  I 
thought.  Now  there  was  something  else  in  that  valise 
which  I  did  not  turn  over  to  the  company,  because  I 
did  not  think  it  was  their  property." 

He  took  from  his  pocket  the  mysterious  little 
volume,  the  same  which  had  so  strangely  appeared 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON          221 

at  different  times  and  in  the  hands  of  different  par- 
ties, not  all  of  whom  were  at  that  time  known  to 
himself.  Blount  turned  it  over  curiously  in  his  hand. 

"Funny  sort  of  book  for  a  traveling  man  to  have 
in  his  valise,"  said  he.  "You  reckon  he  was  some 
sort  of  book  collector?" 

"Well,  I  don't  reckon  that  Thompson  was.  Upon 
the  other  hand,  Henry  Decherd  might  have  been,  for 
certain  reasons.  Let's  see. 

"Now,  here  is  this  little  French  book.  It  tells 
about  a  certain  journey  made  from  America  to 
France  in  the  year  1825  by  several  Indian  chieftains. 
They  went  with  one  Paul  Loise,  interpreter.  With 
them  was  a  young  girl,  Louise  Loisson— don't  you  see 
the  name?— and  she  is  carefully  described  as  a  de- 
scendant, not  of  Paul  Loise,  but  of  the  Comte  de 
Loisson,  a  nobleman  who  came  to  St.  Louis  shortly 
before  1825." 

Blount  sat  up  still  straighter  in  his  chair.  "This 
here  is  mighty  strange,"  said  he.  "Names  sound 
right  near  alike." 

"Yes,"  said  Eddring.  "But  that  Louise  Loisson 
must  have  been  dead,  buried  and  forgotten  half  a 
hundred  years  ago.  If  so,  what  is  she  doing  dancing 
down  at  New  Orleans  to-day?  As  soon  as  I  saw 
that  name  in  the  newspaper,  I  looked  it  up  again  in 


222  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

my  little  book.  Then  I  put  together  my  suspicions 
about  the  letter,  and  the  list,  and  the  valise.  If  I 
hadn  't  seen  the  name  in  the  newspaper,  I  might  never 
have  been  so  much  interested  in  it;  and  certainly  I 
should  never  have  put  the  matter  before  you." 

"I  am  mighty  glad  you  did.  There  may  be  a  heap 
under  all  this  that  I  want  to  know  about." 

"There  is.  And  now  I  want  you  to  follow  me 
closely;  because  this  very  same  thing  has  come  to 
me  from  another  direction. 

"You  know  that  in  my  work  I  have  to  examine 
papers  in  all  sorts  of  claim  cases.  Now,  within  the 
year,  I  ran  across  a  United  States  Supreme  Court 
brief,  a  case  which  came  up  from  the  Indian  Nations, 
and  which  was  decided  not  long  ago.  It  seems  that  the 
plaintiff  used  to  be  on  the  Omaha  pay-rolls.  Some 
one  in  the  tribe,  apparently  as  a  test  case,  covering 
certain  other  claims,  objected  that  the  claimant  was 
not  all  Indian,  indeed  not  Indian  at  all,  and  hence 
not  entitled  to  be  on  the  rolls;  although  you  know 
Uncle  Sam  recognizes  Indian  blood  to  the  one-two- 
hundred-and-fiftieth  part. 

"I  might  never  have  taken  much  interest  in  that 
suit,  which  I  happened  to  be  going  over  for  other 
reasons,  if  I  hadn't  caught  sight,  in  the  testimony,  of 
the  names  of  Loise  and  Loisson,  and  if  I  hadn't  found 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON          223 

the  name  of  Henry  Decherd  among  counsel  for  the 
plaintiff!" 

"Well,  by  jinks,  that's  mighty  curious!"  said 
Blount.  "I  didn't  know  he  was  a  lawyer." 

"Yes.  He  was  a  lawyer;  so  much  the  more  dan- 
gerous, as  I'll  show  you.  Now  Paul  Loise  was  official 
interpreter  for  the  United  States  government  at  St. 
Louis  in  1825.  He  was  of  absolutely  no  kinship  to 
the  Comte  de  Loisson,  the  similarity  of  names  being  a 
mere  coincidence,  though  one  which  has  made  much 
trouble  in  the  records  since  that  time,  as  I  have  dis- 
covered. The  confusion  of  these  two  names  was 
one  of  the  most  singular  legal  blunders  ever  known 
in  the  South.  It  was  this  entanglement  of  the  records 
that  gave  Henry  Decherd  his  chance. 

"The  Comte  de  Loisson  was  a  widower,  and  he 
brought  with  him  from  France  a  young  daughter. 
He  pushed  on  up  the  Missouri  River  in  search  of 
adventures,  but  he  left  this  daughter,  as  nearly  as 
can  now  be  learned,  in  charge  of  the  half-breed  inter- 
preter, Paul  Loise,  perhaps  with  the  understanding 
that  the  latter  was  to  obtain  suitable  care  for  her 
from  officials  in  the  government  employ.  That  was 
about  the  time  the  Redhead  Chief — Clark,  of  Lewis 
and  Clark,  you  know — was  Indian  commissioner  at  St. 
Louis. 


224  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"Now  Paul  Loise,  at  that  time  engaged  in  the  gov- 
ernment treaty  work  with  the  tribes,  was  moving 
about  from  tribe  to  tribe,  and  he  seems  to  have  had 
an  Indian  wife  in  pretty  much  every  one  of  them. 
He  also  had  a  white  wife,  or  one  nearly  white,  whom 
he  left  at  his  headquarters  in  St.  Louis;  and  it  was 
with  this  woman,  white  or  partly  white,  that  the 
young  daughter  of  the  Comte  de  Loisson  was  left, 
at  least  for  a  time.  Paul  Loise  himself  on  one  jour- 
ney went  up  the  river  to  the  place  where  the  Omaha 
tribe  then  lived.  Whether  he  took  this  white  child 
with  him,  or  whether  he  left  her  in  charge  of  his 
white  wife  at  St.  Louis,  is  something  now  very  dif- 
ficult to  prove.  This  United  States  Supreme  Court 
case  hinges  very  largely  on  that  same  question;  and 
hence  it  is  of  great  interest  to  us,  as  I  will  show  you 
after  a  while." 

"Well,  now,  couldn't  this  dancer  down  at  New 
Orleans — some  sort  of  Creole  like  enough — have  been 
a  descendant  of  this  Loise  family  of  St.  Louis?" 
asked  Blount. 

"That  we  can't  tell,"  replied  Eddring.  "As  I 
said,  the  similarity  of  the  names  set  me  looking  up 
the  whole  matter  as  soon  as  I  could." 

"Well,  didn't  the  French  girl's  father  ever  come 
back  after  her?" 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON          225 

"Wait.  We'll  come  to  that.  The  one  thing  cer- 
tain is  that  he  never  came  back  down  the  Missouri 
River.  He  disappeared  absolutely,  no  doubt  killed 
somewhere  by  the  Indians.  His  daughter  grew  up 
as  best  she  might.  She  went  to  France,  as  our  book 
shows.  After  a  time  Paul  Loise,  her  erstwhile  pro- 
tector, died  also.  Here  Louise  Loisson  disappears 
from  view.  She  left  behind  her  a  very  pretty  legal 
question  for  others  to  solve,  and  a  mightily  mixed 
set  of  records  to  aid  in  the  solution. 

"Out  of  the  uncertainty  regarding  the  descendants 
of  Paul  Loise  there  arose  a  great  deal  of  litigation. 
This  lawsuit,  which  I  have  mentioned,  no  doubt 
originated  by  reason  of  that  very  confusion.  Now, 
the  attorneys  in  that  suit  had  a  knowledge  of  the 
existence  of  this  very  book  which  you  have  in 
your  hand.  They  stated  in  this  brief  that  there 
was  but  one  copy  of  this  book  existing  in  Amer- 
ica, that  in  the  Congressional  Library  at  Wash- 
ington. They  won  their  case  by  means  of  this  book 
as  evidence;  for  here  is  full  proof,  printed  in  Paris 
in  1825,  that  these  Indians  went  to  Paris,  accom- 
panied by  Paul  Loise,  and  by  one  Louise  Loisson,  a 
white  girl,  noble,  and  not  his  daughter;  which  meant 
that  he  had  a  mixed-blood  daughter  elsewhere,  from 
whom  the  claimant  had  descent. 


226  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"How  this  book  got  into  the  possession  of  Henry 
Decherd — of  course  it  did  not  belong  to  the  man 
Thompson — is  something  I  can't  tell.  He  no  doubt 
intended  to  use  it  for  his  own  purposes,  as  I 
will  try  to  show  you  after  a  while.  As  to  this 
Supreme  Court  case  from  the  Indian  Nations, 
it  simply  proves  that  the  claimant  did  have  a  status 
on  the  pay-rolls;  and  it  stops  at  that.  The  case  is 
irrefutable  evidence  on  the  Paul  Loise  descent  ques- 
tion. Perhaps  Decherd,  for  reasons  which  we  shall 
possibly  find  out,  was  not  willing  to  let  the  matter 
rest  quite  there. 

"As  to  our  little  book,  it  is  a  gay  one  enough.  It 
says  that  the  chieftains  from  America  were  received 
with  distinguished  honors  in  the  city  of  Paris.  They 
had  so  much  champagne  that  three  of  them  died. 
A  titled  woman  of  France  fell  in  love  with  one  of 
them,  and  there  were  all  sorts  of  high  jinks.  As 
to  the  young  girl — La  Belle  Americaine  they  called 
her— it  seems  that  Paris  could  not  have  enough  of 
her.  She  was  all  the  rage.  She  taught  them  the 
dances  of  the  'sauvages.'  'Tres  inter essantes'  the 
Frenchmen  thought  these  dances,  it  seems.  That's 
all  we  know  of  her — she  danced.  Well,  if  Mademois- 
elle Louise  Loisson,  down  at  New  Orleans  to-day, 
is  as  successful  with  her  line  of  dancing  as  her  pos- 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON  227 

sible  mamma  or  grandmamma  was  in  Paris  years  ago, 
it  would  certainly  seem  she  has  no  reason  for  com- 
plaint." 

Blount  sank  back  in  his  chair  with  a  deep  sigh. 
"You  were  right,"  said  he.  "It  is  a  little  hard  to 
understand  all  this  at  first,  but  I'm  beginning  to  see. 
And  unless  I'm  mistaken,  this  thing  is  going  to  come 
home  mighty  close  to  us.  Decherd  has  surely  been 
mixed  up  in  this,  if  this  was  really  his  book,  or  in 
his  valise,  as  you  think.  Delphine  is  in  it,  too,  if  that 
letter  to  him  means  anything.  But  now,  what  was 
Decherd  after?" 

''I'll  tell  you,"  said  Eddring,  "or  at  least,  I'll 
show  you  what  I  have  discovered  so  far,  and  you  can 
guess  at  the  rest. 

"When  I  got  thus  far  along  I  was  pretty  deeply 
interested,  as  you  see,  and  I  followed  it  on  out,  just 
for  the  love  of  the  mystery.  Now  I  have  unearthed 
the  fact  that  the  Comte  de  Loisson  did  leave  some 
property  when  he  died.  Soon  after  his  arrival  in  the 
neighborhood  of  St.  Louis,  he  bought  a  good-sized 
tract  of  land,  down  in  what  is  now  St.  Francois 
County,  below  St.  Louis.  The  lands  at  that  time 
were  thought  valueless,  but  perhaps  the  Comte  de 
Loisson  had  more  scientific  knowledge  than  most  of 
the  inhabitants  of  St.  Louis  at  that  time.  Perhaps 


228 

he  intended  to  develop  his  lands  after  he  returned 
from  his  adventures  up  the  Missouri  River.  He 
never  did  return,  and  the  lands  seem  to  have  lain 
untouched  for  a  generation  or  more,  still  for  the  most 
part  considered  valueless. 

"Now,  when  I  had  got  that  far  along,  I  took  the 
trouble  to  look  up  the  numbers  of  the  sections  of  this 
land.  Cal,  I  want  to  tell  you  that  that  land  to-day 
is  in  the  middle  of  the  St.  Frangois  lead  region,  which 
is  full  of  this  new  disseminated  lead  ore,  which  every- 
body for  a  time  thought  was  only  flint ! ' ' 

"On  Jordan's  strand — "  began  Blount,  suddenly 
bursting  into  song. 

"I  don't  blame  you  for  being  disturbed,"  said 
Eddring,  himself  smiling.  "As  you  see,  there  is 
something  under  all  this.  Maybe  Mr.  Decherd  is  a 
bigger  man  than  we  gave  him  credit  for  being.  Maybe 
this  little  book  is  a  bigger  book  than  we  thought  it 
was. 

'Now,  you  know,  the  entail  has  been  abolished  in 
the  state  of  Missouri.  So  we  come  directly  to  the 
question  of  the  descent  of  these  lead  lands  under  a 
certain  name.  Of  course,  a  single  heir  in  each  of 
three  generations  would  carry  the  title  down  clear 
till  to-day;  provided,  of  course,  that  there  was  no 
escheat  to  the  government — that  all  the  taxes  had 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON          229 

been  kept  up.  Very  well.  That  means  that  it  is  at 
least  a  legal  possibility  for  a  living  heir  to-day  to 
have  title  to  those  Loisson  lead  mines,  which  are  very 
valuable.  Cal— "  and  here  Eddring  rose,  tapping 
with  his  finger  on  the  table  in  front  of  him,  "the 
Louise  Loisson  who  went  to  France  in  1825  was  the 
owner  of  those  lead  mines!  Now  I  have  looked  up 
the  tax  record.  The  taxes  on  these  lands  for  several 
years  back  have  been  paid  by  Henry  Deeherd!" 

Blount  himself  rose  and  stood  back,  hands  in 
pockets,  looking  at  the  speaker.  " — I'll  take  my 
stand!"  he  continued  with  his  hymn. 

"For  a  long  time,"  went  on  Eddring,  "these  lands, 
not  supposed  to  be  worth  anything,  were  not 
listed  by  any  assessor,  and  hence  did  not  appear 
upon  the  tax-rolls.  Thus  they  were  not  forfeited 
by  the  original  purchaser,  who  must  have  had 
his  title  pretty  nearly  direct  from  Uncle  Sam 
himself.  Louise  Loisson,  the  first,  the  French  noble- 
woman dancer,  owned  those  lead  mines.  If  this 
dancer  at  New  Orleans  be  a  relative  of  hers,  a 
daughter  or  granddaughter,  she  won't  have  to  dance 
unless  she  feels  like  it.  For  I  am  here  to  tell  you, 
as  a  lawyer,  her  claim  to  this  tract  can  be  proved, 
just  as  readily  as  the  claim  to  a  place  on  the  Omaha 
pay-rolls  for  a  descendant  of  Paul  Loise  was  proved 


230  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

in  the  United  States  Court  five  years  ago,  by  means  of 
this  same  book  on  the  table  there  before  you!" 

"Well  now,  my  son,  that's  what  an  ignorant  fellow 
like  me  would  call  a  mighty  pretty  lawsuit,"  said 
Blount,  turning  over  the  curious  little  red-bound 
volume  in  his  hand. 

"It's  more  than  pretty,"  said  Eddring,  "it's 
deep,  and  it's  important — important  to  you  and  me, 
for  more  reasons  than  one.  There  has  been  a  heap 
of  trouble  down  in  the  Delta,  and  there  has  been 
a  head  to  all  this  trouble-making.  We  are  now  en- 
titled to  our  guess  as  to  whether  or  not  we  have  in 
this  curious  way  located  the  head.  If  we  are  right, 
we  have  at  least  connected  Henry  Decherd  with  an 
attempt  to  secure,  either  for  himself  or  some  one  else, 
the  title  to  these  lands. 

"Now,  whether  the  rightful  heir,  if  there  be  any 
heir,  knows  of  the  existence  of  these  lands,  or  ever 
heard  of  this  book,  or  ever  heard  of  that  Indian  law- 
suit, is  something  which  we  don't  know.  There  may 
not  be  any  living  descendant  of  the  Loisson  family. 
All  we  know  is  that  there  is  some  one  using  the 
Loisson  name;  and  that  there  is  some  one  else  who 
is  after  the  Loisson  estates.  Now,  just  why  this  latter 
has  had  certain  associates,  or  just  why  he  has  done 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON          231 

certain  other  acts,  you  and  I  can't  say  at  this  time. 
But  we'll  know  some  time." 

"The  first  thing  to  do,  of  course,  is  to  go  to  New 
Orleans  to  see  that  dancer  woman." 

"Of  course,"  said  Eddring.  "I  shall  start  to- 
morrow. As  for  you,  Blount,  you've  got  hint  enough 
about  what's  going  on  in  your  own  neighborhood. 
You'd  better  watch  that  girl  Delphine.  What  are 
you  letting  her  stay  around  there  for,  anyway?" 

"Because  I've  got  to  eat,"  said  Blount,  "and  be- 
cause I've  got  to  have  some  one  to  run  that  place. 
As  I  told  you,  I  haven't  been  there  much  of  the  time 
till  lately.  I  reckon  she's  been  boss,  about  as  much 
as  anybody.  You  know  there  wasn't  a  white  woman 
on  the  place,  not  since  Miss  Lady  left.  I  couldn't 
ever  bear  to  try  to  get  anybody  else  in  there.  I  just 
let  things  go." 

"What  became  of  Mrs.  Ellison,  after  she  left  your 
place?" 

"I  don't  know;  don't  ask  me.  I  was  an  awful  fool 
ever  to  get  caught  in  any  such  a  way.  I  heard  Mrs. 
Ellison  went  to  St.  Louis,  but  I  don't  know.  As  I 
look  at  it  now,  I  believe  Decherd  was  more  than  half 
willing  to  make  up  to  Miss  Lady.  I  reckon  maybe 
Mrs.  Ellison  didn't  like  that,  though  why  she  should 
care  I  don't  know.  Don't  ask  me  about  all  these 


232  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

things— I've  had  too  much  trouble  to  want  to  think 
about  it.  All  I  know  is  that  the  girl  was  as  fine  a 
one  as  ever  lived.  She  was  good— now  I  know  that, 
and  that's  all  I  do  know.  I  always  thought  she  was 
Mrs.  Ellison 's  daughter ;  but  when  the  break-up  came, 
they  allowed  it  wasn't  that  way.  I  never  did  try  to 
figure  it  all  out.  When  Miss  Lady  disappeared,  and 
we-all  couldn't  find  her  nowhere,  I  just  marked  the 
whole  thing  off  the  slate,  and  went  out  hunting." 

"Cal,"  said  Eddring,  quietly,  "did  you  ever  stop 
to  think  that  there  is  quite  a  similar  sound  in  those 
three  names,  Loise,  and  Loisson,  and  Ellison?" 

Blount  threw  out  his  hands  before  him.  "Oh,  go 
on  away,  man,"  said  he.  "You've  got  me  half -crazy 
now.  I  don't  know  where  I'm  standing,  nor  where 
I've  been  standing.  I  don't  feel  safe  in  my  own 
home— I  haven't  been  safe.  My  whole  place  has  gone 
to  ruin,  and  all  on  account  of  this  business.  It's 
nigh  about  done  me  up,  that's  what  it  has.  And  now 
here  you  come  making  it  worse  and  worse  all  the 
time." 

"But  we've  got  to  see  it  through  together." 
"Oh,  I  reckon  so.    Yes,  of  course  we  must." 
"Well,  now,  let's  just  look  over  the  matter  once 
more,"  said  Eddring.    "Let  us  suppose  that  Decherd 
has  stumbled  on  this  knowledge  of  the  unclaimed 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON          233 

Loisson  estate.  He  works  every  possible  string  to  get 
hold  of  it.  He  tries  to  get  tax  title— and  that  is 
where  he  uncovers  his  own  hand.  Meanwhile,  he  tries 
the  still  safer  plan  of  finding  a  legal  heir.  "We  will 
suppose  he  has  two  claimants.  From  this  letter  here 
we  may  suppose  that  Delphine  was  one  o'f  them,  his 
first  one.  He  seems  to  have  learned  from  this  Indian 
lawsuit,  whether  or  not  he  was  concerned  other  than 
as  counsel  in  that  lawsuit— and  the  record  does  not 
show  whether  or  not  he  was— that  Delphine,  or  his 
claimant,  whoever  that  was— we'll  say  Delphine,  for 
we  don't  know  Delphine 's  real  name,  perhaps — could 
and  did  stick  on  the  pay-rolls  of  an  Indian  tribe. 
That  meant  that  she  was  Loise,  and  not  Loisson. 
The  United  States  Court  records  hold  that  absolute 
evidence,  res  adjudicata — stare  decisis;  which  means, 
in  plain  English,  that  ends  it.  It  also  means  that 
that  Indian  claimant  could  not  inherit  the  Loisson 
estate ! 

"Now  here  .,.  an  unknown  woman,  whom  we  will 
call  Delphine,  begging  Decherd  not  to  forsake 
her.  There  would  seem  to  have  been  a  failure 
on  this  line  of  the  Decherd  investigation.  Per- 
haps the  result  of  the  test  case  didn't  please 
Decherd  very  much,  although  he  was  on  the  winning 
side.  At  least,  it  marked  the  Loise  claimant  off  the 


234  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Loisson  slate.  So  much  for  claimant  number  one. 
So  much  for  Delphine,  we'll  say. 

"But  now,  at  some  time  or  other,  Miss  Lady  and 
Mrs.  Ellison  appeared  on  the  scene.  I  don't  know, 
any  more  than  you  do,  how  these  three  happened  to 
know  each  other,  or  why  Decherd  happened  to  appear 
so  steadily  at  your  place,  after  you  had  so  eagerly 
taken  his  suggestion  and  employed  Mrs.  Ellison  as 
your  household  supervisor.  But  now,  we  will  say, 
Decherd  takes  a  great  notion  to  Miss  Lady.  All  the 
time  Delphine  is  there  watching  him.  She  puts  on 
a  heap  more  airs  than  a  colored  mistress.  Along 
about  the  time  of  the  train  wreck,  she  begins  to 
charge  him  with  faithlessness.  She  refers  vaguely,  as 
you  see  in  the  letter,  to  his  interest  in  this  other 
woman.  Now,  can  that  be  our  Miss  Lady  ? 

"We  don't  know.  None  of  us  can  tell,  as  yet,  who 
that  mysterious  other  person  is.  Mrs.  Ellison  might 
tell  us,  if  we  could  find  her,  or  if  we  cared  to  find 
her." 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Blount.  "That  woman  stays 
off  the  map.  The  only  one  of  the  three  we  want  to 
find  is  Miss  Lady." 

"Yes,"  said  Eddring,  "if  we  had  Miss  Lady,  and 
if  we  could  get  Mrs.  Ellison  and  Henry  Decherd  to 
tell  the  truth  as  Miss  Lady  would,  then  we  would 


REGARDING  LOUISE  LOISSON          235 

learn  easily  a  great  many  things  which  perhaps  it 
will  cost  us  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  uncover." 

"Well,"  said  Blount,  sighing,  as  he  walked  mood- 
ily across  the  room,  "my  own  little  world  seems  to 
be  pretty  much  turned  upside  down.  I  can't  say 
you  make  me  any  happier  by  all  this.  The  only  thing 
I  can  see  clear  is  that  you've  got  to  get  to  New 
Orleans  as  soon  as  you  can.  There's  reasons  plenty 
for  you  to  go." 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment, 
but  said  nothing.  "Give  me  my  little  book,"  said 
Eddring,  finally.  "I  fancy  Mr.  Henry  Decherd 
would  be  glad  enough  to  have  that  back  in  his  own 
hands  again.  There's  his  evidence.  This  is  the  key 
to  his  plans,  whatever  they  are." 

Blount  groaned  as  he  swung  about  on  his  heel. 
"Good  God!  man,"  he  said,  "don't!  To  hell  with 
your  lawsuit !  What  do  we  care  about  mixed  names, 
or  all  this  underhanded  work?  Never  mind  about 
me  and  my  affairs — I'll  take  care  of  that.  Man,  it's 
Miss  Lady  we  want.  We  don't  know  what  has  hap- 
pened to  her.  The  rest  don't  make  any  difference." 

"Yes,"  said  John  Eddring,  "it's  Miss  Lady.  The 
rest  makes  little  difference." 

"Go  on,  then,"  said  Blount,  fiercely,  smiting  on 
the  table.  "Now,  find  out  about  this  Louise  Lois-' 


236  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

son.  Maybe  then  you  11  hear  something,  some- 
where, that'll  give  you  track  of  our  Miss  Lady.  Start 
to  New  Orleans  at  once— I'm  going  down  home,  to 
watch  that  end  of  the  line.  We're  going  after  those 
levee-cutters.  As  I  said,  we  may  want  you,  and  if  I 
send  for  you,  get  to  my  place  as  fast  as  you  can. 
Never  mind  how  you  get  there,  but  come.  And  man ! 
if  we  could  only  get  Miss  Lady  back!  If  she — " 
"If  we  could!"  said  John  Eddring,  reverently. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  RELIGION   OF   JULES. 

Eddring  made  his  journey  to  New  Orleans,  as  he 
had  promised.  On  the  morning  following  his  arrival 
he  took  his  breakfast  at  one  of  the  quaint  cafes  of 
the  city,  a  place  with  sanded  floors  and  clustered 
tables,  and  a  frank  view  of  a  kitchen  in  full  though 
deliberate  operation.  One  Jules,  duck-footed,  solemn 
and  deliberate,  served  him,  and  was  constituted  gen- 
eral philosopher  and  friend,  as  had  for  some  time 
been  Eddring 's  custom  in  his  frequent  visits  to  this 
place. 

"Jules,"  said  he,  tapping  the  newspaper  in  his 
hand,  "how  about  this?  It  seems  you  have  a  new 
dancer  at  the  Odeon,  very  beautiful,  very  mysterious, 
very  interesting!" 

"Ah,  Monsieur,  all  the  young  gentlemen  they  grow 
crezzy,  that  is  now  four,  five  month,  Monsieur." 

' '  Who  is  she,  then,  Jules,  and  what  ?  Is  she  indeed 
very  beautiful  ? ' ' 

"It  is  establish',  Monsieur.  No  one  has  ever  seen 
her  face.  As  to  her  grace  and  youth,  it  is  not  to 

237 


238  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

doubt.  She  dance  always  in  the  domino,  and  no  man 
may  say  in  truth  he  has  pass'  word  with  Louise 
Loisson.  She  is  the  idol,  the  nouvelle  sensation  of  the 
city." 

"Goes  masked,  eh?  Young,  beautiful,  eh?  Well, 
I  should  say  that's  not  bad  advertising,  at  least." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Jules,  earnestly,  "do  not  say  it 
at  the  club.  It  would  provoke  discussion,  and  the 
young  gentlemen  might  have  anger.  Mademoiselle 
Louise  is  worship'  in  this  town.  At  first,  non!  It 
was  thought  as  you  say.  But  soon  this  feeling  of 
the  young  men  it  has  shange'.  It  has  go  into  devotion. 
Now  it  is  religion ! ' ' 

"Well,  that  is  a  pretty  state  of  affairs,  isn't  it?" 

"But  I  say  to  you  that  this  Louise  Loisson,  she 
dance  not  like  the  othair  femmes  du  ballet — dbsolu" 
ment  non."  Jules  became  excited,  spreading  out  his 
hands  and  letting  fall  his  napkin. 

"It  is  different,  the  quality  of  the  dance  of 
mademoiselle,"  said  he.  "It  is  quelquc  chose,  I  do 
not  know  what.  It  is  not  to  describe.  It  make  you 
think,  thass  all.  As  I  say,  she  has  come  to  be  a 
religion. ' ' 

"But  where  does  this  divine  creature  live,  Jules? 
Who  is  she?  Come,  now,  you  ought  to  tell  me  that 
much." 


THE  RELIGION  OF  JULES  239 

Jules  went  on  polishing  a  glass.  "Ah,  Monsieur, 
why  you  h 'ask ? ' '  said  he.  "I  may  say  so  much,  like 
this;  she  live  with  a  lady  in  the  French  town— very 
fine,  very  quiet,  very  secret.  It  is  the  house  of  old 
family  which  was  bought  by  Madame  Delchasse. 
Madame,  you  have  know,  perhaps?  She  was  long 
time  the  bes'  cook  in  New  Orleans.  She  make  plenty 
money.  When  Mademoiselle  Louise  she  first  come 
here,  she  is  very  poor,  she  have  no  friend.  Somehow 
she  is  found  by  this  Madame  Delchasse.  Monsieur 
and  Madame  Delchasse,  they 'have  once  together  the 
res'traw.  Monsieur  is  very  fond  of  the  escargot  a  la 
Bourgogne,  and  one  day  he  eat  too  many  escargot. 
Madame,  she  run  the  res'traw,  sell  great  many  meal 
to  the  dam-yankees;  sell  the  cook-book  to  the  dam- 
yankees  aussi.  Thus  she  get  rich — very  rich,  and  buy 
the  house  on  1 'Esplanade.  But  madame  is  lonely. 
She  is  not  receive'  by  the  old  French  families.  Mon- 
sieur Delchasse  is  dead,  her  shildren  are  dead— she 
is  alone.  She  take  Louise  Loisson  home  to  live.  My 
faith !  she  is  watch  her  like  the  cat. ' ' 

"But  how  about  this  dancing?  Why  does  she  need 
to  dance?"  queried  Eddring. 

"Ah,  she  has  dance  two,  t'ree  time  in  the  house  of 
Madame  Delchasse.  'It  is  zhenius,'  exclaim  Madame 
Delchasse  at  this  dance  j  and  always,  and  always,  tou- 


240  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

jours,  she  tell  of  the  zhenius  of  this  jeune  fille  who  has 
come  live  with  her.  Thass  all.  The  proprietaire  of 
the  Odeon,  he  fin'  it  hout.  He  insist,  this  jeune  fille 
shall  dance.  She  riffuse.  He  insist,  he  offer  much 
money.  At  las',  she  say  she  dance  if  she  have  always 
the  masque.  'Bon!'  he  cry,  and  so  it  is  determine'. 
She  dance  always  in  the  domino.  It  is  most  roman- 
tique,  most  a  'mirab '.  So  this  is  now  the  religion  of  all 
the  young  men,  mats,  oui,  this  jeune  fille,  Mademoi- 
selle Louise  Loisson ! ' ' 

"And  how  does  Madame  Delchasse  regard  this  pub- 
lic dancing  by  her  jeune  fille?" 

"Monsieur,  she  worship'  Mademoiselle  Louise.  But 
she  say,  '  This  is  art,  and  of  art  the  world  it  is  not  to 
be  deprive ! '  It  is  well  for  both  madame  and  for  Made- 
moiselle Louise.  The  luxury  of  those  room  in  those 
old  house,  they  far  surpass  the  best  of  what  one  find 
in  the  new  hotel.  Mademoiselle  have  the  best  cook  in 
New  Orleans.  She  come  in  her  carriage,  she  go  the 
same.  She  drive  up  to  the  gate  on  1 'Esplanade, 
and  the  gate  is  close !  Behold  all !  You  know  so  much 
as  any  gentleman  of  Nouvelle  Orleans — you  have  the 
tenderloin  of  trout  ? ' ' 

After  breakfast  Eddring  strolled  over  to  the  box 
office  of  the  Odeon;  but  though  he  made  diligent  in- 
quiry of  the  young  man  who  met  him  at  the  window, 


THE  RELIGION  OF  JULES  241 

the  latter  could  give  him  no  satisfaction  beyond  the 
mention  of  the  address  on  the  Esplanade  where  dwelt 
Madame  Delchasse.  He  was  very  lukewarm  in  regard 
to  further  inquiries  from  the  stranger. 

The  flavor  of  this  little  adventure  began  now  to  ap- 
peal to  Eddring,  and  thus  left  to  his  own  resources, 
he  determined  to  assume  a  bold  front  and  call  in  per- 
son at  the  old  house  on  the  Esplanade.  It  being  still 
early,  he  wandered  for  a  time  about  the  strange  old 
city;  but  the  crooked  streets  and  their  quaint  shops 
had  lost  their  charm.  The  ancient  Place  d'Armes,  the 
old  Cabildo,  the  French  market,  the  tumble-down 
buildings  which  house  the  courts  of  justice  ceased  to 
interest  him.  He  was  relieved  when  finally  he  felt  it 
proper  to  turn  up  the  old  Esplanade,  which  wandered 
away  with  its  rows  of  whitened  trees,  out  among  the 
dignified  and  reticent  residences  of  the  vieux  carre. 

The  flavor  of  another  day  came  to  him.  This,  in- 
deed, was  the  same  Nouvelle  Orleans,  he  reflected, 
from  which  in  an  earlier  day  the  first  Louise  Loisson 
had  set  sail  for  France !  He,  by  virtue  of  this  old  vol- 
ume now  resting  in  his  pocket,  was  concerned  with 
the  fortunes  of  that  earlier  Louise  Loisson.  And  yet, 
he  acknowledged  the  growing  feeling  that  in  this  mat- 
ter there  was  coming  to  be  for  him  something  more 
than  a  professional  interest.  This  thought  he  put 


242  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

away  as  best  he  could,  chiding  himself  as  perpetually 
visionary,  though  old  enough  now  to  dream  no  more. 

In  time  he  arrived  at  the  street  number  to  which  he 
had  been  directed,  and  paused  at  the  iron  street  gate 
which  shielded  even  the  carriage  drive  from  the  pub- 
lic. Through  the  bars  of  the  gate  he  could  see  a  well- 
kept,  formal  lawn  and  the  peaked  roof  of  the  close- 
shuttered,  green-balconied  dwelling  beyond.  There 
could  not  have  been  a  better  abode,  he  reflected,  for 
this  mysterious  personage  who  had  called  him  hither 
on  this  fantastic,  will-o'-the-wisp  journey.  Yet  he 
pulled  himself  up  with  disgust.  He  dared  not  hope! 
He  reproved  himself  sharply.  No  doubt  he  was  to 
see  presently  a  gushing  or  garrulous  or  ignorant 
young  woman,  whose  pretended  modesty  was  but  an 
artifice,  whose  real  soul  was  set  upon  the  adulation  of 
the  public  and  the  pecuniary  gain  received  thereby. 
He  was  almost  of  a  mind  to  turn  away,  and  end  his 
quest  then  and  there. 

He  was  not  prepared  for  what  was  soon  to  happen. 
There  came  a  hum  of  wheels  along  the  old  roadway, 
and  a  carriage  pulled  up  at  the  walk.  There  alighted 
quickly  the  figure  of  a  young  girl,  tall,  slender,  round, 
full-chested,  abounding  in  health  and  vigor.  So  much 
could  be  seen  at  a  glance.  As  to  the  face  of  the 
new-comer,  the  eyes  were  shielded  by  a  dark  blue 


THE  RELIGION  OF  JULES  243 

domino,  or  short  mask.  Eddring  saw  beneath  this 
concealment  a  strong,  round,  tender  chin;  above,  a 
pile  of  red-brown  hair.  He  caught  the  flash  of  a 
sweeping  bunch  of  scarlet  ribbons,  heard  a  quick  rust- 
ling of  skirts,  saw  an  inscrutable  face  turned  toward 
him ;  and  then,  before  he  had  time  to  think  or  speak,  a 
servant  had  swept  open  the  great  iron  gate  and  the 
young  woman  had  stepped  within.  She  did  not  look 
back,  but  passed  on  rapidly  up  the  gravel  walk  to- 
ward the  house.  And  John  Eddring,  foolish,  stunned, 
abashed,  knew  that  he  had  seen  the  mysterious  Louise 
Loisson!  Ah,  he  had  seen  more — he  had  seen  an- 
other ! 

He  turned  as  he  heard  a  footstep  and  a  soft  voice 
at  his  elbow.  The  passerby  accosted  him  smiling,  and 
he  recognized  Jules,  the  duck-footed. 

"Ah,  Monsieur,"  said  the  latter,  "I  see  you  have 
also  discover'  the  shrine.  Is  it  not  beautiful,  Monsieur 
— this  worship  of  a  pure  jeune  fillef" 

The  words  brought  Eddring  back  to  his  own  proper 
senses.  Forgetting  all  else,  he  sprang  through  the 
big  gate,  past  the  servant,  and  hastened  up  the  walk. 
' '  Miss  Lady !  Miss  Lady ! "  he  cried. 


CHAPTER  y, 

DISCOVERY 

"Miss  Lady!"  cried  Eddring,  yet  again;  and  even 
as  the  hurrying  figure  before  him  reached  the  gal- 
lery steps,  she  heard  the  entreaty  of  his  voice  and 
turned.  As  she  did  so  she  tore  from  her  face  the 
concealing  mask  and  stood  before  him,  Miss  Lady 
indeed — tall,  straight,  young  and  beautiful.  Ed- 
dring moved  forward  impetuously,  feeling  all  the 
thrill  of  her  presence;  all  the  lambency  of  woman, 
planet-like,  far-off,  mysterious.  Eagerly  he  looked, 
and  questioningly,  doubtingly ;  and  then  there  came 
a  quick  content  to  his  heart.  In  spite  of  all,  in  spite 
of  what  might  have  been,  this  was  Miss  Lady  herself 
and  none  other!  Sweet  as  of  old,  and  ah,  fit  indeed 
for  worship !  Ah,  here,  he  cried  out  to  himself,  was 
that  friend  of  his  soul,  lost  now  for  a  time,  but  found, 
now  found  again ! 

But  even  as  he  pressed  forward,  holding  out  his 
hands,  his  emotion  shining  in  his  eyes,  there  came  a 
change  upon  Miss  Lady's  face. 

244 


DISCOVERY  245 

"Ah,  Mr.  Eddring,  it  is  you?"  she  said,  and  her 
voice  had  the  upward  inflection,  as  though  she  care- 
lessly addressed  an  inferior.  "I  remember  you  very 
well,  but  I  hardly  thought  to  see  you.  Indeed,  I 
should  hardly  have  expected  to  see  any  one  in  just 
this  way." 

All  that  Eddring  could  do  was  to  falter  and  cry 
out,  "Yes,  I  have  come!  I  have  found  you!" 

"Indeed?  But  we  do  not  receive  callers.  Our 
plan  of  life  has  been  arranged  otherwise.  You  might 
be  observed  even  now.  It  would  cause  talk." 

"Talk!"  cried  Eddring,  now  suddenly  breaking 
into  flame.  ""Why,  let  them  talk!  It  is  time  there 
was  talk — time  you  talked  to  some  of  your  old 
friends — you,  Miss  Lady,  who  had  so  many  friends." 

' '  Friends ! ' '  said  the  girl,  bitterly.    ' '  Friends ! ' ' 

"Yes,  friends!"  cried  Eddring.  "Surely  you 
know  that  Blount  and  I  have  moved  heaven  and 
earth  trying  to  find  you.  Why  you  should  go,  why 
you  should  leave  every  one  in  ignorance  and  take  up 
with  mummery  like  this — it  is  something  no  sane 
person  can  tell.  You  have  not  done  right,  Miss  Lady. 
You  have  not  done  right ! ' ' 

The  girl  raised  her  head,  a  flame  of  anger  upon 
her  own  cheek  at  this  presumption.  Yet  she  reserved 
her  speech,  and  by  gesture  led  Eddring  to  a  spot 


246  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

concealed  by  the  ivy-covered  lattice.  Her  cheeks 
burned  all  the  more  hotly  as  Eddring  went  on. 

"What  mockery!"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  what  mockery!"  repeated  Miss  Lady. 
"What  mockery  that  you  should  say  these  things  to 
me !  What  had  I  up  there  ?  What  was  I  ?  I  was  a 
servant,  a  dependent.  Besides  all  that,  things  came 
up  which  would  have  driven  any  decent  girl  away.  I 
could  do  nothing  else  but  go.  Oh,  you  don't  know  all. 
You  can't  be  just,  for  you  don't  know." 

"But  your  mother?" 

"You  mean  Mrs.  Ellison?  She  was  not  my 
mother,  Mr.  Eddring.  I  thought  you  knew  that. 
That  is  one  reason  why  I  am  here.'* 

' '  She  was  not  your  mother  ?    Then  that  was  true  ? ' ' 

"She  never  was.  She  disappeared  out  of  my  life, 
and  I  know  little  about  her  now,  excepting  that  she 
was  the  only  mother  I  ever  knew.  There  has  been 
deception  of  some  sort.  There  were  so  many  sad 
and  troublesome  things  that  I  could  no  longer  endure 
my  life  as  it  was.  I  went  away.  I  came  here.  I 
found  a  home." 

"But  Colonel  Blount?" 

"Sir,  he  was  my  friend.  I  can  only  say  that  in 
justice  it  was  better  for  me  to  go.  He  is  a  noble 
man.  If  ever  I  pained  him  I  am  sorry.  But  as  to 


DISCOVERY  247 

friends — "  she  dangled  the  little  domino  on  her  fin- 
ger, "this  has  been  my  only  friend.  It  has  kept  me 
from  seeing  even  myself.  Without  it  I  should  have 
died."  There  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she 
spoke.  Eddring  felt  that  he  had  now  to  do  with  a 
woman  grown,  sad,  not  light  and  unstable.  There 
crowded  to  his  tongue  a  thousand  things. 

"That!"  said  he.  "You,  Louise  Loisson — you 
have  indeed  been  masquerading.  Tell  me,  how  did 
you  get  that  name?" 

"It  was  an  accident  purely,"  said  Miss  Lady.  "I 
found  it  in  a  book,  years  ago.  It  was  unusual,  and 
I  took  it  for  that  reason.  I  wanted  to  get  as  far 
away  from  any  possibility  of  detection  by  my  friends 
as  I  possibly  could.  See,"  she  smiled  bitterly,  "I 
am  Louise  Loisson  now,  the  common  dancer!  I  make 
my  living  in  that  way.  But  for  that,  and  for  the 
kindness  of  Madame  Delchasse  here,  I  might  have 
starved.  I  am  no  longer  any  one  you  ever  knew. 
Behind  this  mask  sometimes  I  forget." 

Eddring  looked  at  her  with  strange  earnestness. 
"You  don't  know  how  true  is  every  word  you 
speak,"  said  he.  "There  is  absolute  fatality  under 
all  this.  On  my  honor,  I  believe  you  are  Louise  Lois- 
son,  born  over  again !  But  look  how  fate  brings  you 
and  me  together:  I  did  not  know  where  Miss  Lady 


248  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Ellison  had  gone ;  I  did  not  know  who  Louise  Loisson 
might  be ;  by  chance,  by  the  merest  chance,  I  wished 
to  learn — for  other  reasons  only.  Now,  see!  Why, 
it  is  fate,  Miss  Lady !  I  have  found  you  both.  Miss 
Lady,  my  dear  girl,  see!  I  have  found  everything 
else  in  the  world  at  the  same  time."  The  pent-up 
yearning  of  his  soul  was  in  his  voice,  his  eyes.  The 
girl  caught  swift  warning. 

' '  I  shall  go  in, ' '  said  she ;  but  he  stopped  her.  She 
tore  loose  the  hand  which  he  would  have  taken. 
"  Go ! "  said  she,  ' '  and  never  must  you  come  through 
that  gate  again.  You  were  unasked,  and  never  will 
be  asked.  You,  to  talk  of  friends !  Why,  you  were 
the  very  last  of  any  I  ever  knew  whom  I  should  have 
cared  to  see  again." 

"What — what  is  that?"  He  stumbled  under  this 
sudden  blow. 

"Oh,  I  have  enough  of  men,"  said  the  girl,  bit- 
terly, ' '  enough  of  humanity.  But  I  will  tell  you  this 
much,  a  friend  of  mine  must  first  of  all  be  an  honest 
man.  You  talk  to  me  of  masquerading;  take  off 
your  own  mask,  and  let  me  set  my  foot  upon  it,  as 
I  have  set  foot  upon  all  my  past !  Sincerity,  truth — 
I  wonder  if  there  is  such  a  thing  left  in  all  of  God's 
world.  I  did  not  ask  you  here,  I  do  not  welcome  you 
here.  Good-by.  You  must  go." 


DISCOVERY  249 

He  stood  dumb,  simply  gazing  at  her,  not  under- 
standing; and  his  absolute  horror  she  took  to  be  his 
mere  confusion.  Yet  her  eyes  were  more  sad  than 
angry  as  she  went  on. 

"You've  prospered,  Mr.  Eddring,  I  know,"  said 
she.  "What  a  difference  for  you  and  me!  A  girl 
must  walk  so  carefully,  but  a  man  may  do  as  he 
pleases.  You  talk  about  fate,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
but  no  man  with  a  life  like  yours  can  come  into 
my  life,  mere  dancer  though  I  be.  Before  you  go  I 
want  to  say  to  you  that  I  know  the  story  of  your 
discharge  from  the  railroad.  I  know  how  you  prof- 
ited by  your  knowledge  of  the  company's  affairs — 
know  other  things  not  public  regarding  you.  Since 
I  do  know  these  things,  for  you  to  dare  to  come  to 
me  in  this  way  seems  to  me  the  worst  of  effrontery." 

Still  Eddring  stood  uncomprehending,  stunned. 
"I— I  do  that?"  he  whispered,  half  to  himself.  "Did 
you  think — could  you  believe — " 

"I  could  believe  nothing  else." 

"Who  told  you  these  things?"  blazed  he  at  length, 
as  at  last  his  heart  once  more  sent  the  blood  back 
through  his  veins. 

"If  you  wish  to  know,  I  will  tell  you.  It  was 
Henry  Decherd.  I  imagine  he  could  furnish  proof 
enough."  She  spoke  defiantly,  if  perhaps  wearily. 


250  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"Henry  Decherd!"  exclaimed  Eddring.  "Henry 
Decherd !  Miss  Lady,  is  it  possible  that  you  can  stand 
alive  under  the  sun  of  heaven  and  say  these  things 
to  me?  Is  he  here?  Tell  me,  what  right — " 

But  now  the  anger  of  Miss  Lady  herself  was  blaz- 
ing, and  all  the  cruelty  of  her  sex  was  in  her  tone 
as  she  answered.  "I  need  not  tell  you,"  said  she, 
"but  I  will.  Mr.  Decherd  is  the  only  friend  of  my 
former  life  who  cared  enough  for  me  to  follow  and 
find  me.  And  so  he  has  the  right — " 

"For  what?  Tell  me,  is  there  any  truth  in  this 
newspaper  paragraph — 'There  is  talk  about  the  mar- 
riage of  the  mysterious  Louise  Loisson'?  Don't  tell 
me  that  he — that  Decherd — "  He  gazed  steadily  into 
her  eyes,  but  saw  there  that  which  made  him  forget 
all  his  purposes,  forced  him  to  remember  nothing 
in  the  world  but  his  sudden  personal  misery.  And  so 
for  an  instant  he  stood  and  suffered — until  the  sheer 
bigness  of  his  soul  began  to  reassert  itself.  All  his 
love  for  her  came  back,  and  he  forgot  even  his 
deadly  hurt  in  the  great  wave  of  pity  and  tenderness 
which  swept  over  him. 

"Miss  Lady,"  said  he  simply,  after  a  time,  "for 
myself  it  doesn't  make  so  much  difference,  after  all. 
I  am  one  of  the  unlucky.  But  for  you,  as  you  say,  it 
is  at  least  your  due  that  you  should  have  honest  men 


DISCOVERY  251 

for  your  friends,  and  an  honest  man  for  your  hus- 
band. I  wanted  you  to  trust  me.  I  loved  you.  I 
wanted  you  to  believe  in  me.  I  wanted  you  to  marry 
me,  Miss  Lady— I  will  say  it— and  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  that  long  ago,  before  you  left  us.  That  is  over 
now.  You  are  unjust  and  cruel  beyond  all  tolera- 
tion— beyond  all  belief.  You  could  by  no  possibility 
ever  love  me.  But  listen.  You  shall  never  marry 
Henry  Decherd." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  DANCER 

Ah,  but  it  was  a  sweet  and  wonderful  thing  to  see 
La  Belle  Louise  dance;  a  strange  and  wonderful 
thing.  She  was  so  light,  so  strong,  so  full  of  grace, 
so  like  a  bird  in  all  her  motions.  She  swam  through 
the  air  as  though  her  feet  scarce  touched  the  floor, 
her  loose  silken  skirts  resembling  wings.  Now  on 
one  side  of  the  lighted  stage,  now  back  again,  nod- 
ding, beckoning,  eourtesying  to  something  which 
she  saw — this  spectacle  must  have  moved  any  one 
of  us  to  applause,  as  it  did  these  thousands  who 
came  to  witness  it.  The  stage  has  no  traditions  of 
any  dance  like  this  of  La  Belle  Louise.  It  is  now 
danced  no  more,  this  dance  which  a  maid  or  a  lily 
or  a  tall  white  stork  might  understand,  each  after 
its  own  fashion. 

Scores  of  times  had  La  Belle  Louise  given  this 
dance,  each  time  with  but  trifling  variations,  each 
time  to  thunders  of  applause,  with  an  art  so  free  of 
effort  that  it  was  above  all  art.  But  what  had  now, 

252 


THE  DANCER  253 

for  the  first  time,  come  to  La  Belle  Louise?  Did 
her  bosom  labor  in  the  physical  exertion  of  these 
measured  steps?  Was  the  quality  of  lightness 
and  freedom  lacking?  Was  the  self -absorption, 
the  abandonment,  the  impersonal,  bird-like  quality 
less  to-night  than  before?  And  was  the  sub- 
tile, cruelly  just  sense  of  the  public  right  in  its  hesi- 
tation, in  its  half-applause?  Had  there  been  actual 
change  in  the  dancing  of  La  Belle  Louise  ? 

The  dancer  looked  from  side  to  side,  as  though  in 
search  of  some  face  or  figure;  as  though  in  fear,  in 
distress.  Was  she  actually  panting  when  she  left  the 
stage — she,  La  Belle  Louise,  the  ethereal,  the  spirit- 
uelle,  the  very  imponderable  dream  of  the  dance  it- 
self? This  might  have  been;  for  presently  she  cast 
herself  into  the  arms  of  Madame  Delchasse  in  a 
state  bordering  upon  actual  panic. 

"Auntie!"  she  cried,  "I  can  not  dance!  I  am 
done  with  it !  I  shall  never  dance  again.  I  can  not ! 
I  can  not ! ' '  She  trembled  as  though  in  actual  fear 
or  suffering  as  she  spoke. 

"Now,  now,  my  cherished!"  said  the  old  French 
lady,  gathering  her  to  her  ample  bosom,  "what  is  it 
that  has  come  to  you ?  You  have  illness  ?  Come,  we'll 
go  at  'ome." 

The  dancer  was  slow  in  laying  aside  her  silken 


254  THE  LAW  OP  THE  LAND 

skirts  and  putting  on  her  street  attire.  Madame 
waited  some  time  before  thrusting  her  head  through 
the  half -open  door.  ' '  See !  my  dearie, ' '  she  cried,  ' '  I 
have  the  surprise  for  you.  Monsieur  shall  ride  home 
with  you.  He  has  ordered  for  to-night  the  second 
carriage,  which  I  shall  myself  take — since  you  are  so 
soon  to  ride  with  monsieur  all  the  time,  is  it  not  ? ' ' 

The  head  of  madame  disappeared.  The  girl,  when 
at  last  ready  to  depart,  sat  with  her  gaze  fixed  on 
the  door ;  yet  she  started  when  presently  there  came 
a  knock.  Henry  Decherd  entered. 

"Louise!"  he  cried,  "Louise!"  and  would  have 
caught  her  in  his  arms.  She  repulsed  him  and  stood 
back,  pale  and  trembling. 

"Oh,  I  say,"  protested  Decherd,  "one  would 
think  I  had  no  right." 

"You  have  no  right  to  touch  me,"  she  replied. 
"You  shall  not.  Go  on  away  with  auntie  in  the 
other  carriage.  I  will  follow  you  home." 

"Come,  now,"  said  Decherd,  approaching;  "this 
sort  of  thing  won't  do.  I  don't  understand  what 
you  mean." 

"No,  you  don't  understand  a  girl,"  she  said. 

"At  least  I  understand  how  a  girl  ought  to  treat 
the  man  she  is  to  marry." 

"Marry!"  said  Miss  Lady,  whispering  to  herself. 


THE   DANCER  255 

"Marry!"  There  was  silence  between  them  for  a 
time,  but  she  turned  to  him  at  length. 

"I  shall  never  dance  again,"  said  she.  "Neither 
to-morrow,  nor  at  any  other  time,  shall  I  set  foot  upon 
the  stage  again." 

"You  will  not  need  to  do  so,  when  once  we  are 
married,"  said  he.  "I  shall  be  willing — but  tell  me, 
what's  the  matter  to-night?  You  are  only  tired. 
You  will  wake  up  again." 

"Wake  up !"  cried  she,  "that  is  the  very  word.  I 
feel  as  though  I  had  suddenly  awakened,  this  very 
night."  She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  reddening 
cheeks.  "Can't  you  see?"  she  cried.  "To-night  for 
the  first  time  I  felt  them!  I  felt  their  eyes.  I  felt 
them,  out  there  in  front,  as  though  there  were  many ; 
as  though  there  were  more  than  one.  I  felt  that 
they  were  women — that  they  were  mew/" 

"Well,  they  have  been  there  all  the  time,"  said 
Decherd.  "It's  odd  you  should  just  realize  that." 

"I  never  did  before,"  said  she.  "It  kills  me. 
Why,  can't  you  see?  I  have  been  selling  myself — 
my  body,  my  face,  my  eyes,  myself,  a  little  at  a  time, 
a  little  to  each  of  them.  I've  been  selling  myself. 
They  paid  to  see  me.  Now  I  can  dance  no  more. 
Yes,  you  are  right,  I  am  awake  at  last;  and  I  tell 


256  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

you  I  am  some  one  else.  I  have  been  in  a  dream,  it 
seems  to  me,  for  years.  But  now  I  can  see." 

"Well,  let  the  dancing  go,"  said  Decherd,  rising 
and  coming  toward  her.  "Never  mind  about  that." 

"Let  everything  go!"  cried  Miss  Lady,  fiercely. 
"Let  everything  go!  Marry  you?  Why,  sir,  if  in- 
deed you  understood  a  girl,  you  would  not  want  me 
to  come  to  you  feeling  as  I  do  now.  Can't  you  see 
that  a  girl  must  depend  on  the  man  she  loves?  I 
have  tried  to  feel  sure.  I  have  tried  to  see  you 
clearly.  Now,  to-night,  it  is  just  as  it  was  that  time 
years  ago  when  you  spoke  to  me;  something  comes 
between  us.  I  can  not  see  you  clearly.  I  can  not 
understand.  And  so  long  as  that  is  true,  I  can  never, 
never  marry  you.  I  can  not  talk  about  it.  Go !  I 
do  not  want  to  see  you!" 

A  sudden  alarm  seized  upon  Henry  Decherd. 
' '  Listen, ' '  he  said ; ' '  listen  to  me.  I  can  not  have  you 
talk  this  way.  Why,  you  know  this  sort  of  thing  is 
absolutely  wrong." 

"Everything's  wrong!"  cried  Miss  Lady,  burying 
her  face  in  her  hands  as  she  sank  on  a  couch.  ' '  Every- 
thing is  wrong!  I  am  ashamed,  I  can  not  tell  you 
why.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  have  changed,  all  at 
once.  I'm  not  myself  any  more.  I'm  some  one  else. 
I  don't  know  who  I  am!  I  never  knew.  Oh,  shall  I 


THE   DANCER  257 

never  know — shall  I  never  understand  why  I  am  not 
myself!" 

Decherd  caught  her  hands.  "We  shall  not  wait," 
said  he,  "we'll  be  married  to-morrow."  His  voice 
trembled  in  a  real  emotion,  although  on  his  face  there 
sat  an  uneasiness  not  easily  read.  "Dearest,  for- 
get all  this,"  he  repeated.  "Go  home  and  sleep,  and 
to-morrow — " 

Her  eyes  flashed  in  the  swift,  imperious  anger 
wherewith  upon  the  instant  sex  may  dominate  sex, 
leaving  no  argument  or  answer.  Yet  in  the  next 
breath  the  girl  turned  away,  her  anger  faded  into 
anxiety.  She  wavered,  softened  in  her  attitude. 

"Oh,  he  told  me,  he  told  me!"  murmured  she  to 
herself.  "I  can  not — I  can  not!"  She  seemed  un- 
conscious of  Decherd 's  presence.  But  soon  she  forgot 
her  own  soliloquy.  Once  more  she  looked  Decherd 
squarely  in  the  face. 

' '  I  can  not  marry  you, ' '  she  said.    ' '  I  will  not ! ' ' 

"I'll  not  allow  you  to  make  a  fool  of  yourself,  or 
of  me,"  said  Decherd.  "What  do  you  mean — who 
is  'he'?" 

He  had  his  answer  on  the  moment,  not  from  her 
lips,  but  by  one  of  those  strange  freaks  of  fate  which 
often  set  us  wondering  in  our  commonplace  lives. 

There  came  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  a  call  boy  of- 


258  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

fered  a  card.  "It's  against  orders,  I  know,  ma'am," 
he  began,  "but  then — " 

Decherd,  full  of  suspicion,  sprang  at  the  messenger 
and  caught  the  card  before  Miss  Lady  saw  it.  His 
swift  glance  gave  him  small  comfort. 

' '  Eddring ! "  he  cried.  ' '  By  God !  John  Eddring ! 
So—" 

"Yes,"  she  flashed  again  at  him.  "You  are  rude; 
and  there  is  your  answer;  and  here  is  mine  to  you, 
and  him. ' '  She  turned  to  the  call  boy. 

"Tell  the  gentleman  that  Miss  Loisson  can  not  be 
seen,"  said  she. 

A  ghastly  look  had  come  upon  Henry  Decherd 's 
face  at  these  words.  His  features  were  livid  in  his 
rage.  "So  Eddring  is  here,  is  he?"  said  he,  "and  he 
has  been  talking  to  you?  By  God,  I'd  kill  him  if  I 
thought—" 

"Carry  my  wrap,  sir!"  said  Miss  Lady,  rising  like 
a  queen.  "You  may  do  so  much  for  the  last  time. 
At  the  gate  I  shall  bid  you  good-by.  Open  the 
door!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SUMMONS 

As  though  in  a  dream,  Miss  Lady  followed  De- 
cherd  to  the  entrance,  near  which  stood  a  carriage  in 
the  narrow  little  street.  She  scarcely  looked  at  his 
face,  and  did  not  note  his  hurried  words  to  the  driver. 
Silent  and  distraught,  she  took  no  note  of  their  direc- 
tion as  the  wheels  rattled  over  the  rude  flags  of  the 
medieval  passageway.  The  carriage  turned  corner 
after  corner  in  its  jolting  progress,  and  finally  trun- 
dled smoothly  for  a  time,  but  Miss  Lady,  hoping 
only  that  this  journey  might  soon  end,  scarce  no- 
ticed where  it  had  ended.  She  saw  only  that  it  was 
not  at  the  gate  of  Madame  Delchasse's  house,  and, 
startled  at  this,  expostulated  with  Decherd,  who 
reasoned,  argued,  pleaded. 

Meantime,  at  the  gate  of  the  old  house  on  the  Es- 
planade, Madame  Delchasse  waited  uneasily  alone. 
Perhaps  half  an  hour  had  passed,  and  madame  could 
scarce  contain  herself  longer,  when  finally  she  heard 
the  rattle  of  wheels  and  saw  descending  at  the  curb 

259 


260  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

a  stranger,  who  hurriedly  approached  her  carriage 
window. 

' 'Pardon,  Madame,"  said  he,  as  he  removed  his 
hat,  "this  carriage  is,  perhaps,  for  the  house  of 
Madame  Delchasse?" 

"It  is,  Monsieur,"  said  madame,  frigidly.  "I  am 
Madame  Delchasse."  v 

"Pardon  me,  Madame,"  said  the  new-comer,  "my 
name  is  Eddring,  John  Eddring.  I  would  not  pre- 
sume to  come  at  such  an  hour  were  it  not  that  I  have 
a  message,  a  very  urgent  one,  for  Miss  Loisson.  She 
refused  to  see  me  at  the  theater,  and  I  came  here ;  she 
must  have  this  message.  It  is  not  for  myself  that — " 

Madame  drew  back  into  her  carriage.  "Mon- 
sieur," said  she,  "I  say  to  you,  bah!  and  again,  bah!" 

"You  mistake,"  said  Eddring,  hurriedly.  "It  is 
only  the  message  which  I  would  have  delivered.  It 
is  only  on  her  account."  Something  in  his  voice 
caught  the  attention  of  madame,  and  she  hesitated. 
"It  is  strange  mademoiselle  do  not  arrive,"  she  said. 
"Monsieur  Decherd  should  have  brought  her  'ome 
before  this." 

' '  Decherd ! ' '  cried  Eddring. 

"Mais  oui.  He  is  her  fiance.  What  is  it  that  it  is 
to  you,  Monsieur?" 

"Listen,  listen,  Madame!"  cried  Eddring.     "We 


THE  SUMMONS  261 

must  find  them.  This  message  is  one  of  life  and 
death.  Come,  your  carriage — "  and  before  madame 
could  expostulate  the  two  were  seated  together  in 
madame 's  carriage,  and  it  was  whirling  back  on  the 
return  journey  to  the  Odeon. 

Eddring  fell  on  the  doorkeeper.  "Miss  Loisson! 
Where  is  she?  "When  did  she  leave?"  he  demanded; 
and  madame  added  much  voluble  French. 

"Mademoiselle  left  with  a  young  gentleman  a 
half -hour  ago,"  said  the  doorkeeper.  "I  heard  him 
say,  '  Drive  to  the  levee. '  Perhaps  they  would  see  the 
high  water,  yes?" 

"That's  likely!"  cried  Eddring,  springing  back 
into  the  carriage, ' '  but  we  will  go  there,  too. ' '  Hence 
their  carriage  also  whirled  around  corner  after  cor- 
ner, and  presently  trundled  along  the  smoother  way 
of  the  levee.  Passing  between  the  interminably  long 
rows  of  cotton-bales  they  met  a  carriage  coming 
away  as  they  approached,  and  Eddring,  upon  the 
mere  chance  of  it,  accosted  the  driver. 

"Did  you  bring  two  persons,  a  young  lady  and  a 
young  man,  here  a  moment  ago  ? ' '  said  he. 

"Not  here,"  said  the  driver,  pulling  up.  "But  I 
took  them  lower  down  on  the  levee.  They  went  on 
board  the  Opelousas  Queen.  You'll  have  to  hurry  if 


262  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

you  want  to  catch  them.  She's  done  whistled, 
an'  '11  be  backin'  out  mighty  quick." 

Eddring  hardly  waited  for  the  end  of  his  speech, 
"We  must  find  them,"  said  he  to  madame  at  his 
side,  who  now  was  becoming  thoroughly  frightened. 
"There  is  something  wrong  in  this.  I  must  get  this 
message  to  Miss  Loisson,  and  I  must  find  out  what 
all  this  means." 

A  few  moments  later  their  own  carriage  brought 
up  with  a  jerk,  and  Eddring,  dragging  madame  by 
the  arm,  hurried  across  the  stage  plank  almost  as  it 
was  on  the  point  of  being  raised. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  growled  the  clerk  to  the 
hurried  arrivals,  as  the  Queen  slowly  turned  out  into 
the  stream. 

' '  Did  a  couple  come  aboard  just  now,  a  few  minutes 
ahead  of  us?"  cried  Eddring,  taking  him  by  the 
shoulder  in  his  excitement. 

"Why,  yes.  But  they  didn't  come  in  such  a  hurry 
as  you  do.  Where  are  you  going?" 

"Wait,"  said  Eddring.  "What  was  the  girl  like? 
Tall,  dark  hair,  wore  a  cloak,  perhaps?  And  the 
man — was  he  rather  thin,  dark — had  oddish  eyes?" 

"Why,  yes;  I  reckon  that's  who  they  were," 
grumbled  the  clerk. 


THE  SUMMONS  263 

Eddring  paid  no  attention  to  him.  "Madame," 
said  he,  "they  must  be  on  the  boat. 

"Now  look;  here  is  my  message,  Madame,"  he 
resumed,  as  he  led  her  apart  to  avoid  the  clerk. 
"You  will  see  why  I  have  brought  you  here,  and 
why  I  had  to  find  Miss  Loisson  and  this  Mr.  Decherd. ' ' 
He  handed  to  her  two  pieces  of  paper — messages  from 
Colonel  Calvin  Blount  addressed  to  him  at  New  Or- 
leans. The  first  one  read:  "We  are  organized; 
come  quick.  More  levee-cutting." 

"That  is  three  days  old,"  said  Eddring.  "Here  is 
one  sent  yesterday.  It  must  have  gone  out  by  boat 
to  some  railway  station,  for  the  roads  are  washed 
out  for  miles  in  all  the  upper  Delta.  'Shot  bad  in 
levee  fight.  Come  quick.  We  have  caught  Delphine, 
ring-leader.  More  proof  implicating  Decherd.  Lou- 
ise Loisson  our  Miss  Lady.  Find  her;  bring  her. 
Watch  Decherd.  Come  quick. — Calvin  Blount.' 

"Madame,"  said  Eddring,  "Miss  Louise  Loisson 
was  once  Miss  Lady  Ellison,  at  the  Big  House  planta- 
tion of  Calvin  Blount,  in  the  northern  part  of  Missis- 
sippi. Her  friends  have  been  looking  for  her  for 
years,  but  in  some  way  have  missed  her.  I  will  say 
to  you  that  she  is  a  young  woman  lawfully  entitled  to 
property  in  her  own  name.  This  Henry  Decherd  is 
unfit  company  for  her,  if  not  dangerous  company. 


264  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

As  to  this  marriage,  it  must  not  be.  Madame,  take 
this  message  to  Miss  Loisson;  if  you  can,  induce  her 
to  go  to  her  old  and  true  friend,  Colonel  Blount, — if 
it  be  not  too  late  now  for  that.  I  am  sure  you  will 
be  thankful  all  your  life ;  and  so  will  she.  Find  her ; 
I  will  find  Decherd.  We  must  get  up  to  Blount 's 
place  then.  He 's  hurt.  He  may  be  killed. ' ' 

Madame  stood  troubled,  fumbling  the  papers  in 
her  hand.  She  scarce  had  time  to  speak  ere.  there 
came  from  the  ladies'  cabin  a  sudden  rush  of  foot- 
steps, and  in  an  instant  Miss  Lady  and  she  were  in 
each  other's  arms. 


CHAPTER 

THE  STOLEN   STEAMBOAT 

"My  shild!  My  soul!"  cried  madame.  "What  is 
it?  Where  have  you  been?  What  is  this?"  She 
patted  Miss  Lady  with  one  plump  hand,  even  as  she 
wept;  and  all  Miss  Lady  could  do  in  turn  was  to 
put  her  face  on  the  older  woman's  shoulder  and  sob 
in  sheer  relief. 

"Why  you  don'  come  at  'ome?"  cried  madame, 
severely.  "We  have  wait*  so  long.  See,  this  boat, 
she  don'  stop.  Why  do  you  come  to  the  boat,  when 
you  say  you  come  at  'ome  to  me?  Ah,  Mademoi- 
selle, you  have  never  deceive'  me  before." 

"I  have  not  deceived  you,"  said  Miss  Lady.  "I 
did  not  know  that  we  were  coming  to  the  river-front 
in  the  carriage — I  thought  we  were  going  home.  When 
we  got  here  he  pleaded,  he  begged — it  was  just  to 
ride  across  to  Algiers,  and  come  back,  he  said.  He 
said  it  was  the  last  time,  the  last  hour  that  we  would 
ever  spend  together.  He  threatened — what  could  I 
do,  Madame  ?  You  would  not  have  me  make  a  scene ; 
it  was  dark  out  there,  I  thought  it  safer  to  come 

aboard  the  boat — where  there  were  lights — and  other 

265 


266  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ladies.  I  went  back  to  the  ladies'  cabin.  O  Madame, 
Madame — " 

Madame  Delchasse  threw  her  arms'  about  the  girl 
and  they  passed  down  the  long  cabin  of  the  boat. 
Eddring  turned  to  the  clerk,  grieved  and  wondering. 

"Can  you  put  these  ladies  ashore  at  Algiers  across 
the  river?"  asked  he.  "There  has  been  a  mistake. 
They  don't  want  to  go  up  river." 

"They'll  have  to  go,  now,"  said  the  clerk.  "Well 
put  them  out  at  the  ferry,  up  above  a  few  miles. 
Best  we  can  do.  Algiers !  Do  you  think  we  are  run- 
ning a  street-car?" 

"Very  well,"  said  Eddring.  "Get  two  state-rooms, 
then.  We'll  go  on  up  the  river.  You  can  put  us 
ashore  sometime  after  daylight.  We  wanted  to  catch 
a  train  up  country,  but  if  we  can't  do  that  to-night, 
we'll  try  it  from  some  stopping-place  up  river." 

There  had  come  to  Eddring  the  lightning-like  con- 
viction that  he  was  now  suddenly  flung  into  the  chief 
crisis  of  his  life.  He  looked  hard  at  the  widening 
gap  of  black  water  between  him  and  the  shore,  and 
at  the  hurrying  floods  into  which  the  boat  was  now 
beginning  steadily  to  plow;  but  the  night  and  the 
floods  gave  him  no  answer.  He  knew  that  he 
had  taken  upon  himself  responsibility  for  two 
women,  one  of  whom  he  believed  to  have  been  prac- 


THE  STOLEN  STEAMBOAT  267 

tically  a  victim  of  abduction — this  woman  whom  he 
had  loved  for  years,  had  lost,  and  lost  again,  but 
who  was  now  here,  under  his  care,  dependent  on  his 
own  courage,  his  own  resolution  and  decision.  It 
was  but  for  a  moment  that  Eddring  hesitated.  The 
heart  of  the  great  boat  throbbed  on  beneath  him, 
but  even  with  her  strong  pulse  there  rose  his  own 
resolve.  He  left  the  forward  deck  and  passed  back 
to  seek  out  the  clerk. 

"Go  tell  the  captain  of  this  boat  to  come  to  me," 
said  he. 

"What  do  you  mean?  Who  are  you?"  the  clerk 
asked. 

"I  must  see  the  captain,"  Eddring  answered  with 
a  wave  of  the  hand,  and  again  turned  away.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  very  stress  of  that  moment  which 
finally  indeed  brought  Captain  Wilson  of  the  Ope- 
lousas  Queen  into  the  presence  of  his  enigmatical  pas- 
senger. 

"Well,  sir?"  cried  Wilson,  as  he  approached,  "\vhat 
can  I  do  for  you?" 

"Captain  Wilson,"  said  Eddring,  quietly,  "I  want 
to  take  your  boat  off  her  regular  run.  I  have  got 
to  get  up  the  river,  and  I  am  afraid  the  roads  are 
wiped  out." 

The  river-man's  astonishment  at  this  bade  fair  to 


268  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

end  in  explosion.  "My  boat?"  he  ejaculated.  "Quit 
my  run?" 

"Yes,"  said  Eddring.  "I'll  explain  to  you  later 
the  necessity  I  have  for  getting  up  the  river  quickly, 
and  why  it  means  that  I  have  got  to  have  your  boat." 

"Have  my  boat!"  said  Wilson,  his  voice  sinking 
into  an  inarticulate  whisper.  "And  me  with  mail,  and 
passengers,  and  freight  to  leave  from  Plaquemine  to 
St.  Louis !  Have  my  boat !  Have  my " 

"Put  your  passengers  off  at  Baton  Rouge  in  the 
morning.  Transfer  your  mails  there.  Let  every- 
thing get  through  the  best  it  can.  It  can  wait.  As 
for  me,  I  can't  wait;  I  must  go  through  direct." 

Wilson  endeavored  to  look  at  him  calmly.  "If 
you  talk  that  way  to  me  much  longer,"  said  he,  "I'll 
say  you're  surely  crazy." 

"I'll  see  you  about  it  in  the  morning,"  said  Ed- 
dring, quietly.  His  singleness  of  purpose  had  its 
effect.  Captain  Wilson  abruptly  turned  on  his  heel. 

Meantime  Miss  Lady  and  Madame  Delchasse  had 
drawn  apart  in  their  own  excitement,  exclaiming 
only  against  the  fact  that  this  boat,  so  far  from 
crossing  the  river,  was  now  forging  steadily  up- 
stream. Along  the  distant  bends  there  could  be 
seen  the  black  masses  of  shadow,  picked  out  here  and 
there  by  the  star-like  points  of  the  channel  lights; 


THE  STOLEN  STEAMBOAT  269 

while  the  low  banks  of  the  western  shore,  dimly  in- 
dicated by  the  ferry  lights,  slowly  slipped  away. 

"We  are  h'run  away,"  cried  Madame  Delchasse. 
"It  is  not  to  Algiers.  Ah,  my  angel,  what  fortune 
I  am  here!"  Miss  Lady  silently  pressed  her  hand, 
and  they  moved  farther  forward  on  the  guards. 

Eddring  heard  them  talking,  and  knew  the  cause 
of  their  uneasiness.  He  sat  apart  on  the  forward 
guards  planning  for  a  further  attempt  with  Captain 
Wilson,  and  planning  also  for  another  meeting  which 
he  knew  he  might  presently  expect.  He  needed  all 
his  faculties  at  that  moment,  as  he  sat  with  his  back 
to  the  rail,  and  his  eyes  commanding  the  approaches 
to  the  deck.  He  was  waiting  for  what  he  knew  would 
be  the  most  exacting  situation  he  had  known  in  all 
his  life — the  encounter  with  Henry  Decherd. 

As  for  the  latter,  it  had  been  his  plan  to  absent 
himself  from  Miss  Lady  until  after  the  boat  should 
have  swung  well  into  the  up-stream  journey;  then, 
he  meant  to  do  whatever  might  be  necessary  to  carry 
out  his  main  purpose.  Abduction,  compulsion,  force 
— none  of  these  things  would  have  caused  Henry 
Decherd  to  hesitate  at  this  time  of  desperation.  Miss 
Lady's  sudden  desertion  and  flight  to  the  ladies'  cabin 
disconcerted  him.  The  sound  of  Eddring 's  voice  and 
that  of  madame  filled  him  with  dismay.  He  tried  to 


270  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

compose  himself,  but  found  his  nerves  trembling. 
Hurrying  to  the  bar,  he  sought  aid  in  a  glass  of  liquor. 
He  knew  there  must  be  a  reckoning.  As  he  returned 
from  the  bar  he  met  Madame  Delchasse  with  Miss 
Lady,  and  was  obliged  to  speak. 

"Madame,  how  did  you  eome  here?"  he  stam- 
mered. "Why,  where  is  this  boat  going?" 

"It  is  not  go  to  Algiers,  no?"  said  madame, 
freezingly.  "By  this  time,  Monsieur  Decherd,  I 
have  expect  mademoiselle  to  be  at  my  'ome." 

"Why,  we  only  wanted  to  run  across  the  river 
together.  We  were  coming  home,"  protested  Dech- 
erd. "We  did  not  know  this  was  an  up-river  boat." 

Madame  Delchasse  drew  herself  up  magnificently. 
"I,  Clarisse  Delchasse,"  said  she,  "have  arrive'.  I 
shall  take  care  of  mademoiselle."  Decherd  again 
began,  but  she  interrupted  him.  "  If  it  is  not  for  this 
stranger,  this  Mr.  Eddrang,"  said  madame,  "I  am 
not  here  this  moment  to  care  for  mademoiselle.  What 
care  have  you  take  ?  People  would  not  talk,  no  ?  You 
to  protect!  Bah!"  She  slammed  the  glass  door  of 
the  cabin  in  his  face. 

Decherd  stood  irresolute,  ill-armed  in  the  injustice 
of  his  quarrel.  He  had  not  a  moment  to  wait. 

"Decherd!"    The  voice  was  John  Eddring's. 

Decherd  turned.  The  silent  watcher  beside  the  rail 
had  risen  and  was  coming  straight  toward  him. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  ACCUSER 

Henry  Decherd  paused  under  the  steadfast  gaze 
which  met  him. 

"Decherd,"  said  Eddring,  simply,  "I  want  to  talk 
to  you.  Come  and  sit  down."  They  moved  a  pace 
or  two  forward,  Eddring  taking  care  that  the  other 
should  sit  facing  the  light  which  streamed  through 
the  glass  doors  of  the  cabin. 

"Stop!  Decherd,  I  wouldn't  do  that."  Eddring 
glanced  at  the  hand  which  Decherd  would  have 
moved  toward  a  weapon.  Eddring 's  own  hands 
hung  idly  between  his  knees  as  he  leaned  forward 
in  his  chair. 

"I  would  like  to  know  what  you  mean  by  med- 
dling in  my  affairs,"  began  Decherd.  "You  are  in- 
terfering  " 

"Yes,"  said  a  voice,  soft  but  very  cold,  "I'm  in- 
terfering. I  am  going  to  spoil  your  chances, 
Decherd.  Sit  down."  The  man  thus  accosted  in- 
voluntarily sank  back  into  a  seat.  Then  a  sudden 
rage  caught  him,  and  he  half-started  up  again.  This 

271 


272  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

time  he  saw  something  blue  gleaming  dully  in  the 
idle  hand  which  hung  between  Eddring's  knees. 

"Be  careful,"  said  the  latter.  "I  told  you  not  to 
do  that.  Sit  down,  now,  and  listen."  An  unreason- 
ing, blind  terror  seized  Henry  Decherd,  and  in  spite 
of  himself,  he  obeyed. 

"In  the  first  place,  Decherd,"  said  Eddring, 
"I  want  to  say  that  it  was  not  lucky  for  you  when 
I  got  hold  of  your  valise  by  mistake  at  the  Big 
House  wreck — the  time  I  found  that  list  of  claims, 
and  the  little  old  book  in  French.  I  have  studied  all 
those  things  over  carefully,  together  with  other 
things.  I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal.  That's  why 
I  am  going  to  spoil  your  chances." 

"Does  she  know?"  whispered  Decherd,  hoarsely. 

"No;  she  knows  nothing  about  it  at  all.  She  doesn't 
know  who  she  is — not  even  why  she  happened  to 
take  the  name  of  Louise  Loisson."  Decherd  gasped, 
but  the  cold  voice  went  on.  "You  might  have  told 
her  some  of  these  things.  You  might  have  told  her 
who  her  real  mother  was,  and  who  her  false  mother. 
You  might  have  given  her  a  chance  to  know  herself. 
I  don't  iancy  that  you  did.  I  don't  think  you  told 
her  anything  which  did  not  serve  your  own  pur- 
poses/' 

"We  were  going  to  be  married,"  began  Decherd. 


THE  ACCUSER  273 

"We  are  going  to  be  married — " 

"You  were,  perhaps,"  said  Eddring.  "but  not 
now.  Oh,  I  don't  doubt  that  you  are  willing  enough 
to  marry  Louise  Loisson,  and  to  deceive  her  after 
your  marriage  as  you  did  before.  I  don't  doubt 
that  in  the  least." 

"What  business  is  it  of  yours?"  said  Decherd, 
now  becoming  more  sullen  than  blustering. 

"I  can't  say  that  it  was  my  business  at  all," 
said  Eddring.  "It's  accident,  largely;  and  surely 
it  was  not  your  fault  that  I  blundered  on  these 
matters.  It  was  rather  fate,  or  the  occasional  good 
fortune  of  the  innocent.  You  covered  up  your  trail 
fairly  well ;  but  a  criminal  will  always  leave  behind 
him  some  egotistical  mark  of  his  crime,  either  by 
accident  or  by  intent.  You  left  marks  all  along  your 
trail,  Decherd — there,  there,  keep  quiet.  I  don't 
want  to  use  force  with  you.  I'm  not  going  to  be 
the  agent  of  justice.  But  it  won't  be  altogether 
healthy  for  the  man  on  whose  shoulders  a  great  many 
of  these  things  are  finally  loaded.  You  were  enter- 
prising, Decherd,  and  you  were  an  abler  man  than 
I  thought,  far  abler;  but  you  undertook  too  much. 

"Now,  here's  a  message  from  Colonel  Blount,"  Ed- 
dring resumed.  ' '  It  looks  as  though  things  were  com- 
ing pretty  nearly  to  a  show-down  up  there.  We  are  go- 


274  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

ing  to  find  out  all  about  that.  Incidentally,  we  are 
going  to  find  out  everything  about  this  poor  girl 
here,  whose  name  and  reputation  only  the  mercy  of 
God  kept  you  from  ruining  this  very  night."  The 
two  now  sat  looking  each  other  fairly  and  fully  in 
the  eye.  For  the  first  time  in  many  years  Henry 
Deeherd  recognized  the  whip  hand. 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you,"  said  Eddring,  "that 
I  know  about  the  old  Loisson  estate — a  great  deal 
more  than  its  lawful  heiress  does.  I  know  who  paid 
the  taxes  on  the  lands.  I  know  as  well  as  you  do 
about  the  suit  in  the  United  States  Supreme  Court, 
where  you  won  and  lost  at  the  same  time.  In  that 
ease  you  proved  your  client,  Delphine,  to  be  Indian, 
and  therefore  not  French — in  plain  language,  you 
proved  that  she  was  the  heiress  of  the  Indian,  Paul 
Loise,  and  therefore  could  not  inherit  certain  valuable 
lands  of  which  we  both  know.  Before  you  found  your- 
self on  that  account  forced  to  pin  your  faith  to  the 
descendants  of  the  French  Comte  de  Loisson,  you 
were  willing  to  use  either  line  of  descent,  provided  it 
made  it  possible  for  you  to  get  possession  of  these 
lands.  You  were  willing  to  deal  with  a  woman  of 
mixed  blood,  or  with  one  of  pure  blood,  of  noble  de- 
scent. Let  me  be  frank  with  you,  Decherd.  You 
were  playing  these  girls  one  against  the  other.  It 


THE  ACCUSEK  275 

was  Delphine  against  the  descendants  of  the  Comte 
de  Loisson — a  delicate  game;  and  you  came  near 
winning. ' ' 

Decherd  passed  a  hand  across  his  forehead,  now 
grown  clammy,  but  he  could  see  no  method  either 
of  attack  or  of  escape,  for  the  cold  gray  eye  still 
held  him,  and  the  blue  barrel  hung  steady  beneath 
the  idle  hand,  as  the  same  steel-like  voice  went  on : 

"I  will  just  go  over  the  proof  once  more, 
Decherd,"  said  Eddring,  "and  see  if  we  don't  look 
at  it  about  alike.  For  instance,  if  Delphine  is  Indian, 
she  isn't  white.  Uncle  Sam's  Supreme  Court  says 
she's  Indian.  That's  record,  that's  evidence.  Take 
the  two  girls,  one  of  noble  blood,  the  other  of  ques- 
tionable descent,  and  they  are  together  equal,  in  posse, 
as  we  will  say,  to  these  valuable  lands.  Do  you  fol- 
low me?  Oh,  give  up  thinking  of  your  gun.  I'll  kill 
you  if  you  move  your  hand. 

"Very  well,  then,  my  friend,  it  comes  simply  to  a 
case  of  cancelation.  No  matter  what  you  have  told 
or  promised  either,  there  can  be  but  one  heiress. 
Mark  out  one  girl,  and  the  other  is  equal  to  that 
estate,  we'll  say.  You  yourself  marked  out  Delphine 
when  you  proved  her  to  be  of  Indian  descent.  That 
leaves  Miss  Lady  as  the  heiress  of  the  estate  of  the 
Comte  de  Loisson,  doesn't  it,  Decherd? 


276  THE  LAW  OF,  THE  LAND 

"It  leaves,  also,  two  ways  of  getting  the  estate. 
You  could  marry  the  girl,  or  kill  her.  You  might 
possibly  get  a  tax-title  in  the  latter  case;  if  you 
killed  the  girl  the  tax-title  would  mature  in  your 
name.  You  may  count  that  string  as  broken.  Mrs. 
Ellison,  we  will  say,  wanted  your  paramour,  Delphine, 
canceled,  and  wanted  also  to  put  the  remaining  claim- 
ant out  of  sight.  Then,  as  mother  of  this  heiress — 
the  false  mother,  as  you  and  I  know — she  thought 
that  she  would  inherit  the  lands — and  you. 

"That  was  Mrs.  Ellison's  plan — a  very  ignorant 
plan.  Then  the  simple  matter  of  a  marriage — or  of 
no  marriage — between  Mr.  Henry  Decherd  and  this 
Mrs.  Alice  Ellison,  would  enable  them  comfortably 
to  share  this  estate.  That  was  the  way  Mrs.  Ellison 
wanted  it,  perhaps.  But  you  preferred  to  marry 
the  true  claimant,  and  get  rid  of  Mrs.  Ellison.  That 
was  your  plan.  You  wanted  to  cancel  every  possible 
claimant  except  Miss  Lady,  and  then  you  wanted  to 
force  Miss  Lady  into  a  marriage  with  you.  Do  I 
make  myself  clear  to  you,  Mr.  Decherd?  And  do  I 
make  myself  clear  that  this  country  isn't  big  enough 
for  both  of  us?  Keep  quiet  now.  You've  come  to 
your  show-down  right  here. 

"Meantime,  it  was  part  of  your  scheme,  as  I  now 
see,  to  keep  Miss  Lady  away  from  her  friends,  to 


THE  ACCUSER  277 

poison  her  against  those  friends.  You  had  to  live, 
and  you  were  a  lawyer,  or  a  sort  of  a  lawyer.  You 
got  hold  of  these  judgment  claims  against  the  railroad 
which  discharged  me.  You  told  this  girl  that  I  stole 
those  claims.  You  know  you  lied.  For  a  time  you 
deluded  this  poor  girl,  poisoning  her  mind,  killing 
her  nature  with  your  deceit.  None  the  less,  you  left 
behind  you  open  proofs,  ready-made  for  your  own 
undoing.  Why,  this  very  name,  this  stage  name  of 
Louise  Loisson,  was  banner  enough  to  bring  her  real 
friends  to  her  side.  But  you  didn't  know,  did  you, 
Mr.  Decherd,  that  I  had  read  the  little  book,  and  that 
I  knew  the  Loisson  history  ?  I  said  it  was  by  chance 
I  found  the  book.  I  am  ready  now  to  say  it  was  by 
fate — by  justice.  It's  like  the  fetish  mark  on  the 
church-door — that  negro  church  in  the  woods — like 
the  sign  on  Delphine's  handkerchief.  Guilt  always 
leaves  a  sign.  Justice  always  finds  some  proof. 

"Now,  I  have  a  message  from  Colonel  Blount. 
Here  it  is.  He  says,  'Louise  Loisson  our  Miss 
Lady.'  He  has  found  out  something,  too,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  line,  hasn't  he,  Decherd?  Notice, 
he  says,  'our  Miss  Lady.'  She  is  ours,  not  yours. 
I  am  going  to  take  her  along  with  me,  back  to  the 
Big  House,  and  to  her  friend,  Colonel  Blount.  He 
says,  'Watch  out  for  Decherd.'  I  am  watching  out 


278  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

for  him.  He  also  says  that  they  have  caught  the 
leader  who  has  been  making  all  the  trouble  up  there 
in  the  Delta,  near  the  Big  House  plantation." 

"Delphine!"  gasped  Decherd,  from  tightened  lips, 
a  pale  horror  now  written  on  every  feature.  "Has 
she  talked?" 

"Yes,  Delphine!  You  were  able  to  guess  that, 
were  you,  Decherd?  Thank  you.  You  were  right. 
I  do  not  know  whether  or  not  Delphine  has  talked. 
But  whether  she  has  or  not,  there  will  presently  be 
no  chance  for  you.  You  are  at  the  end  of  your 
string,  Decherd. 

"And  now,  get  up,"  said  Eddring  to  him  sharply, 
rising.  "Get  up,  you  damned  hound,  you  liar,  you 
thief,  you  cur.  This  boat's  not  big  enough  for  you 
and  me.  The  world  will  be  barely  big  enough  for 
a  little  while,  if  you're  careful.  We  are  not  afraid 
of  you,  now  that  we  know  you.  Go  back  to  Mrs. 
Ellison,  if  you  like.  You  can't  go  back  to  Delphine 
now,  and  you  can't  speak  to  Miss  Lady  again.  She 
is  our  Miss  Lady.  You  can't  stay  on  this  boat  to- 
night, where  that  girl  is." 

"So  you — you're  trying  to  cut  in?"  began 
Decherd. 

Eddring  did  not  answer. 

He  caught  Decherd  by  the  collar,  wrenched  the 


THE  ACCUSER  279 

revolver  from  his  pocket  and  pushed  him  down  the 
stair,  then  dragged  him  along  the  lower  deck.  They 
passed  a  line  of  sleeping  deck-hands  too  stupid  to 
observe  them.  Dragging  astern  of  the  boat,  high 
between  the  two  long  diverging  lines  of  the  roll- 
ing wake,  there  rode  a  river  skiff  at  the  end  of  its 
taut  line. 

"Those  lights  below  are  at  the  ferry,  eight  miles 
from  town,"  said  Eddring.  "Get  into  the  boat." 

"For  God's  sake,  can't  you  get  them  to  slow 
down?"  whined  Decherd;  but  Eddring  shook  his 
head.  Decherd  let  himself  over  the  rail  of  the 
lower  deck,  and  for  an  instant  the  strained  line 
bade  fair  to  hold  his  weight.  Then  his  feet  and  legs 
dropped  into  the  water  as  he  and  the  boat  ap- 
proached. Desperately  he  clambered  on,  and  so  fell 
panting  and  dripping  into  the  bow  of  the  skiff.  A 
moment  later  the  boat  and  its  huddled  occupant 
dropped  back  into  the  night,  tossing  in  the  wake  of 
the  churning  wheels. 

From  above  there  came  pouring  down  the  somber 
flood  of  Messasebe,  bearing  tribute  of  his  wilderness, 
in  part  made  up  of  broken,  worthless  and  discarded 
things. 

Eddring  gazed  after  the  disappearing  boat.  He  was 
relaxed,  silent,  worn.  The  grip  of  a  great  loneliness 


280  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

seized  upon  him.  What  had  he  gained  ?  Why  had  he 
interfered?  The  world  about  him  seemed  void  and 
vacant.  He  felt  himself,  no  less  than  the  other  man,  a 
worthless  and  discarded  thing — a  bit  of  flotsam  on  the 
flood  of  fate. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  VOYAGE 

"As  to  the  law,  Captain  Wilson,"  said  Eddring, 
to  the  master  of  the  Opelousas  Queen  the  following 
morning,  as  he  sat  in  the  cabin;  "I'm  a  lawyer 
myself,  and  I  want  to  tell  you,  the  law  is  a 
strange  thing.  It  will,  and  it  won't.  It  can,  and  it 
can't.  It  does,  and  it  doesn't.  It's  blind,  cross- 
eyed and  clear-sighted  all  at  the  same  time.  It 
offers  a  precedent  for  everything,  right  or  wrong. 
Now,  as  you  say,  it  is  unlawful  for  us  to  stop  the 
delivery  of  these  mails.  I  know  it — big  penalty  for 
non-delivery.  But  let's  talk  it  over  a  little." 

The  Opelousas  Queen  was  now  plowing  steadily 
up-stream,  far  above  Baton  Rouge,  meeting  the  crest 
of  the  greatest  flood  she  had  ever  known  in  all  her 
days  upon  the  turbid  waterway.  Her  master  now, 
surly  but  none  the  less  interested,  out  of  sheer  curi- 
osity in  this  strange  visitor,  sat  looking  at  him  with- 
out present  speech. 

"Are  you  a  married  man,  Captain  Wilson?"  said 
Eddring.  "Have  a  cigar  with  me,  won't  you?" 

281 


282  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND" 

' '  What  difference  is  it  to  you  ? ' '  said  Wilson,  wav- 
ing aside  the  courtesy. 

"Yes;  but  are  you?" 

"Wife  died  six  years  ago,"  said  Wilson,  gruffly. 
The  muscles  ridged  up  along  his  jaw  as  he  closed  his 
lips  tightly. 

"Any  children?"  said  Eddring. 

"Daughter,  eighteen  years  old;  and  a  beauty,  if  I 
do  say  it." 

"I  reckon  you  love  her  some,  don't  you,  Captain? 
Thought  a  heap  of  your  wife,  too,  maybe,  didn't 
you?" 

Wilson  half -rose,  one  hand  upon  his  chair  back, 
as  he  pounded  on  the  table  in  front  of  him  with 
the  other.  "Now  look  here,  Mister  Who-ever-you-are, 
I  've  stood  a  lot  of  foolishness  from  you  already, ' '  said 
he,  "but  those  are  my  matters,  and  not  yours.  Get 
on  out  of  here."  Yet  Eddring  only  looked  at  him 
smiling,  and  into  his  eyes  there  came  a  flash  of  plea- 
sure. 

"I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  you  say  those  very 
words,  Captain,"  said  he;  "because  now  I  know 
you'd  do  anything  in  the  world  to  help  a  good  girl 
out  of  trouble,  or  to  keep  her  out  of  it.  Now,  about 
the  law.  I'm  sure,  Captain,  you  believe  in  the 
higher  law — the  supreme  law — the  chivalry  of  the 


THE  VOYAGE  283 

southern  man,  don't  you?"  Wilson  waved  him  away 
again,  but  still  gazed  at  him  curiously.  "Now  listen, 
Captain,"  Eddring  persisted. 

"I  am  listening,"  blurted  out  Wilson.  "Say,  man, 
if  I  had  your  nerve,  and  what  I  know  about  poker 
on  this  river,  I'd  own  the  country." 

"But  listen—" 

"No.  I  just  want  to  set  here  and  admire  you  a 
few  minutes  before  I  tell  the  deck-hands  to  throw 
you  into  the  river." 

"Captain,"  said  Eddring,  pulling  up  his  chair, 
* '  after  I  'm  done  with  what  I  have  on  hand,  you  may 
throw  me  into  the  river,  if  you  like.  I  don't  think 
it  will  make  much  difference.  But  now,  don't  you 
think  you're  running  this  boat.  The  real  commander 
of  this  boat,  Captain  Wilson,  is  the  supreme  law  of 
this  land — that  law  under  which  the  gentlemen  of 
the  South  are  bound  at  any  time  and  all  times  to  give 
courtesy  and  comfort  to  a  woman  when  she  needs 
them. ' '  Wilson  looked  at  him  mutely,  the  muscles  on 
his  jaw  straining  up  again.  He  jerked  his  head  to- 
ward the  aft  state-rooms  with  a  gesture  of  query. 
Eddring  nodded. 

"She's  a  beauty,  too,"  said  Wilson,  sighing.  "Re- 
minds me  of  my  own  wife,  the  way  she  used  to  look 


284  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

— the  way  my  own  girl  looks  now.  You're  a  lucky 
man." 

"Captain  Wilson,  I  don't  figure  in  this  thing  per- 
sonally at  all.  But  now  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story, 
and  let  you  decide  for  yourself." 

He  went  on  speaking  slowly,  evenly,  gently,  im- 
personally, telling  what  had  been  the  case  of 
Miss  Lady  upon  the  very  night  preceding;  telling 
how  great  was  the  stress  of  events  at  the  head  of  the 
Delta,  very  far  away,  and  impossible  now  of  access. 
He  made  no  offer  of  pecuniary  reward,  but  stated 
his  case  simply  and  asked  his  auditor  to  put  him- 
self in  his  own  position. 

As  he  spoke,  the  chair  of  Captain  Wilson  began  to 
edge  toward  his  own.  In  the  eyes  of  the  old  steam- 
boat man  there  came  a  glisten  strange  to  them.  His 
hand  unconsciously  reached  out.  ' '  Stop ! "  he  roared. 
' '  Give  me  your  hand.  The  boat  is  yours !  Of  course 
she  is." 

Eddring  was  silent,  for  there  came  a  lump  in  his 
own  throat,  as  he  felt  Wilson's  assuring  hand  clap 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"You're  what  I  call  a  thoroughbred,"  said  the 
latter.  "Man,  can  you  play  poker?  You  certainly 
can  make  a  pair  of  deuces  look  like  a  full  house.  Get 
up  an'  shake  hands.  You're  right.  The  boat's  yours. 


THE  VOYAGE  285 

Uncle  Sam  can  wait — the  whole  damned  North  Ameri- 
can continent  can  wait — " 

Eddring  rose  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 

""Well,  that's  my  case,  Captain,"  said  he.  "We've 
both  one  errand,  and  that 's  to  protect  the  white  people 
of  the  Delta;  and  to  get  hold  of  the  truth  which 
will  put  this  girl  where  she  belongs.  Public 
necessity  is  the  greatest  of  all  laws ;  unless  it  be  the 
unwritten  and  general  law  which  I  know  you've  re- 
spected all  your  life." 

""Well,  man — "  Wilson  broke  into  an  uproarious 
laugh,  "you  certainly  are  the  yellow  flower  of  the 
forest.  It's  mighty  seldom  I've  laid  down  to  a  line 
of  talk,  but  I  ain't  ashamed  to  do  it  now.  Here's 
the  boat,  and  we'll  run  her  express,  as  soon  as  we 
can  get  rid  of  the  mail  and  passengers  up  above.  Any 
river-man  knows  what  levee-cutting  means,  and  what 
it  means  if  the  niggers  get  out  of  hand.  I  '11  take  you 
in — why,  I  know  Cal  Blount  myself — and  I  couldn't 
look  my  own  daughter  in  the  face  again  if  I  didn't  do 
just  what  you  say." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  WILDERNESS 

Between  the  cities  of  Memphis  and  Vicksburg 
there  lies  a  great  battle-ground.  It  has  known  en- 
counters between  red  men  and  red,  between  red  men 
and  white,  and  has  known  the  shock  of  arms  when 
white  has  been  arrayed  against  white.  Most  of  all, 
it  is  a  battle-ground  yet  to  be,  whereon  perhaps  there 
shall  be  waged  a  conflict  between  white  and  black. 
Always,  too,  it  will  be  the  battle-ground  between 
civilized  man  and  the  relapsing  savagery  of  nature ; 
between  man  and  the  wilderness ;  between  the  white 
race  and  great  Messasebe,  Father  of  the  Waters. 

Father  Messasebe  is,  after  all,  but  weakly  bound 
to  the  ways  of  commerce.  His  voice  is  always  for  the 
wild ;  his  wish  is  for  the  ancient  ways.  Here  in  the 
far  wild  country — a  part  of  which  even  to-day  is  a 
more  trackless  and  a  less  known  wilderness  than  any 
in  the  heart  of  our  remotest  mountain  ranges — the 
great  river  reaches  out  a  thousand  clutching  fingers 
for  his  own,  claiming  it  as  a  home  even  now  for  his 

286 


THE  WILDERNESS  287 

savagery;  asking  it,  if  not  for  a  wild  red  race,  then 
for  the  black  one  which  may  one  day  prove  its  savage 
successor. 

Here  is  the  reekingly  rich  soil  of  the  great  Delta 
— that  name  not  meaning  the  wide  marshes  of  the 
actual  mouth  of  the  Mississippi,  but  the  fat  accu- 
mulated soil  of  centuries  caged  in  by  that  long,  in- 
curving dam  of  the  hills  which,  far  inland  from  the 
current  of  the  swift  water-way,  begins  at  the  head 
of  the  vast  body  of  tangled  Yazoo  lands,  and  drops 
down,  pinching  in  at  the  base  of  a  great  "V," 
where  the  bluffs  converge  near  Vicksburg.  These 
hills  spreading  out  on  either  side  hold  in  their  wide 
arms  an  empire,  the  richest  and  most  fertile  land, 
though  perhaps  still  the  least  known,  of  any  to  be 
found  in  this  America.  They  hold  also  a  popula- 
tion little  understood;  a  people  bold,  undaunted, 
American.  These  arms  of  the  hills  hold  also  a  vast 
problem;  the  problem  of  black  and  white,  less  set- 
tled to-day  than  it  has  been  at  any  time  these  one 
hundred  years. 

Here  in  this  land,  more  than  two  hundred  miles  in 
length  and  half  as  much  in  width,  Father  Messasebe 
extends  his  fingers.  Sluggish  bayous  run  across  the 
waste  as  their  fancy  leads  them,  their  current  depend- 
ing upon  the  whim  of  the  river,  or  perhaps  on  that 


288  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

of  the  streams  from  the  hill  country  which  con- 
stitutes the  great  dam  of  the  Delta.  The  crooked 
Yazoo  is  marked  on  the  maps  as  crossing  almost 
from  the  north  to  the  south  of  this  wilderness;  yet 
the  Yazoo  can  scarce  claim  a  bed  all  its  own,  for 
it  passes  through  many  ancient  bayous,  and  is  fed 
by  many  of  the  old  "hatchees"  which  the  canoes 
of  the  red  man  explored  long  ago.  Upon  one  side  of 
the  Yazoo  comes  the  Sunflower,  deep  cut  into  the 
fathomless  loam;  yet  sometimes  the  Sunflower  is  re- 
versed in  current;  and  the  Sunflower  and  the  Hush- 
puckenay  may  be  one  stream  or  two;  and  the  latter 
may  run  as  the  levees  say,  or  as  the  floods  dictate; 
while  above  them  both,  at  the  head  of  the  Yazoo,  are 
bayous  and  "passes"  which  make  a  water-way  once 
continuous  from  the  great  river  into  its  lesser  paral- 
lel. 

Messasebe  sometimes  flows  peacefully  through 
channels  marked  out  for  him  by  man,  yet  this  is  but 
his  whim ;  for  a  thousand  years  are  as  naught  to  the 
Maker  of  Messasebe,  and  Messasebe  therefore  may 
bide  his  time.  But  when  the  sport  of  the  floods  be- 
gins, and  the  currents  are  reversed,  and  the  streams 
hurry  down  with  cross  tributes  from  the  hills,  and 
the  wild  waters  have  forgotten  all  control — then  is 
when  Messasebe  the  Mighty  grasps  and  clutches 


THE  WILDERNESS  289 

with  his  wide  fingers,  and  exults  as  of  old  in  his 
wilderness ! 

Here  in  the  heart  of  the  Delta  lay  the  Big  House, 
a  dot  on  the  face  of  things ;  having,  however,  its  prob- 
lems, personal  or  impersonal,  small  and  great.  As 
John  E'ddring  knew,  there  was  trouble  at  the  Big 
House  now.  The  hours  passed  slowly  enough  on  the 
journey  up  the  turbulent  flood  of  the  great  river. 
The  railways  were  in  places  gone  for  miles.  All  that 
Eddring  could  do  was  to  get  by  steamer  as  nearly 
as  possible  opposite  the  Big  House  plantation,  and 
then  win  through  by  small  boat  as  best  he  might, 
across  the  overflow. 

Even  the  most  diligent  makers  of  maps  can  not 
keep  pace  with  Father  Messasebe.  Along  its  south- 
ernmost course  there  are  thousands  of  arms  and 
lakes  and  bayous  where  for  a  time  the  river  ran  until 
it  tired,  and  sought  new  scenes,  new  ways  across 
the  forests  and  cane-brakes.  The  charts  may  show 
you  that  this  river  is  the  boundary  of  a  certain 
state;  but  who  shall  tell  where  or  what  that  boun- 
dary may  be?  Who  can  trace  the  filum  aquae  of  the 
most  erratic  and  arrogant  river  in  all  the  world? 
The  river  is  not  now  as  it  was  ten  years  ago,  nor 
the  same  to-day  as  it  will  be  ten  years  hence.  Chan- 
nel and  cut-off  and  island  and  main  current  go  on  in 


290  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

their  juggling,  and  will  do  so  when  generations  shall 
have  been  forgotten.  When  the  floods  are  out,  and 
when  Messasebe  is  at  his  ancient  game,  there  is  no 
channel;  there  is  no  map,  no  chart;  there  is  a  wil- 
derness. 

It  was  across  this  watery  wilderness  that  John  Ed- 
dring  and  his  ally,  Captain  Wilson,  urged  their  way 
on  the  wildest  journey  ever  known  even  in  the  mad 
times  of  this  great  river.  In  a  half-delirium  which 
set  aside  all  reason  and  all  reckoning,  the  bow  of  the 
sturdy  boat  was  driven  against  the  down-coming 
seas,  opening  up  one  after  another  of  the  channel 
marks;  parting  one  after  another  of  the  massed 
groups  of  shadows;  churning  round  bend  after  bend, 
faster  and  faster,  day  and  night,  until,  far  up  in  the 
welter  of  the  new  waters,  she  forsook  all  charts  and 
guides  in  the  fury  of  her  quest,  and  steamed  for- 
ward in  her  own  fashion,  black  smoke  belching  con- 
tinually from  her  flues,  and  the  pant  of  her  fuming 
engine  bidding  fair  to  tear  out  the  inadequate 
covering  of  her  sides.  Pilot  and  captain  let  go  all 
track  of  the  miles  behind,  looking  only  at  those 
ahead.  They  got  contempt  for  ordinary  dangers. 
So,  pushing  her  way  on,  against  and  across  currents, 
shaving  the  bends,  essaying  every  cut-off,  the  boat 
in  her  strange  race  hurried  on,  running  express  for 


THE  WILDERNESS  291 

the  purposes  of  justice,  and  in  the  cause  of  the  per- 
manency of  society. 

At  last  they  were  far  up  the  river,  above  the 
mouth  of  the  Arkansas,  and  opposite  the  great 
swamps  which  lie  between  the  Arkansas  and  the 
"White  upon  the  western  side ;  so  that  now  the  greater 
portion  of  the  journey  was  well-nigh  done.  Ed- 
dring  and  Wilson,  both  haggard  with  fatigue,  stood 
on  the  bridge  together  and  gazed  out  over  the 
watery  prospect. 

"This  overflow  means  millions  in  losses  to  the 
planters  in  the  Delta, ' '  said  Wilson.  Eddring  nodded. 

' '  If  levee-cutters  started  this  flood  up  in  Tullahoma, 
and  the  planters  ever  get  hold  of  them,  I  shouldn't 
think  it  would  be  exactly  healthy,"  added  Wilson. 
"This  means  everything  under  water,  clean  to  the 
Yazoo.  Looks  like  those  fellows  in  there  had  had  their 
share  of  trouble  lately. ' ' 

"Nothing  but  trouble  for  four  or  five  years,"  said 
Eddring.  "Black  politics." 

"Yes,"  said  Wilson,  sighing,  "when  Mr.  Nigger 
gets  the  notion  that  he'd  like  to  be  school  superin- 
tendent or  county  treasurer,  or  something  of  the 
kind,  he's  goin'  to  be  mighty  willin'  to  lay  down 
the  hoe.  I  even  think  he  would  be  willin',  if  he 
was  asked,  to  let  the  white  man  do  the  hoein',  and 


292  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

him  do  the  governin'."  Eddring  made  no  answer, 
but  gazed  steadily  out  over  the  racing  seas  of  tawny 
water. 

"At  any  rate,  we'll  soon  be  there  now,"  said  he 
at  length.  "How  can  I  pay  you,  Captain  Wilson? 
How  can  I  thank  you?" 

"Well,"  said  Wilson,  thoughtfully,  "you  might 
give  me  your  note,  the  way  a  friend  of  mine,  Judge 
Osborn,  down  at  New  Orleans,  did  once.  That  was 
in  the  war,  you  know,  and  Judge  Osborn  was  a 
Confederate  colonel.  He  had  to  take  passage  on  a 
river  boat,  and  they  got  hung  up  somewhere,  and 
he  and  the  Cap'n  played  a  little  poker  for  several 
days.  Colonel  couldn't  win  nohow.  At  the  end  of 
the  week  he  owed  the  Cap'n  four  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars — Confederate  money,  of  course.  At  last 
says  he,  'See  here,  Cap'n,  now  I  owe  you  this  four 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  I  can't  pay  you  by 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Now, 
what  am  I  going  to  go?  Shall  I  give  you  my  note?* 
The  Cap'n  he  looks  at  the  Colonel,  and  says  he, 
'Ain't  I  treated  you  all  right,  Colonel?  Ain't  I  fed 
you  good  enough?  Did  I  ever  do  you  any  harm?' 
The  Colonel  'lowed  he  had  been  treated  all  right. 
'Well,  then,'  says  the  Cap'n,  'what  have  you  got 
against  me?  What  do  you  want  to  give  me  your 


THE  WILDERNESS  293 

note  for?  Take  everything  I've  got;  take  my  boat, 
but  please,  sir,  don't  give  me  your  note. '  Now  that's 
the  way  I  feel.  I  don't  want  your  thanks,  and  I 
don't  want  your  note." 

Eddring  laughed  frankly.  "Well,  Captain,"  said 
he,  "let  it  go  that  way.  I  won't  give  you  my  note, 
nor  my  thanks ;  but  when  you  are  in  my  part  of  the 
world,  come  and  live  with  me.  After  I  get  through 
with  these  things  in  there,  I  shall  see  you  again  some- 
time. There  are  some  gentlemen  of  the  Delta  who  will 
never  forget  Captain  Wilson." 

"Well,"  the  gruff  old  Captain  answered  him,  "I'll 
tell  my  little  girl  about  it,  and  I  reckon  I'll  get  my 
pay  from  her.  But  now  I  shall  have  to  be  leavin'  you 
before  long,"  he  resumed,  as  he  studied  again  the 
appearance  of  the  country  into  which  they  had  now 
come.  "We're  raisin'  the  Old  Bend  landin',  or  the 
place  where  it  ought  to  be." 

"Wait  a  minute,  Captain,"  said  Eddring,  "we'll 
need  a  skiff.  Put  in  two  or  three  blankets  and  some- 
thing for  coffee,  if  you  will.  It  looks  pretty  rough 
in  there,  and  we  might  not  get  through  before  dark. ' ' 
Eddring  swept  a  hand  toward  the  submerged  for- 
est, which,  shoreless  and  all  afloat,  appeared  upon 
their  right,  stretching  away  in  every  direction  as  far 
as  the  eye  could  reach  through  the  evening  haze. 


294  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"I  will  fix  you  up  the  best  I  can,"  said  Wilson. 
' '  But  now,  do  you  know  that  country  in  yonder  ?  Are 
you  safe  in  going  in  ? " 

"I  have  hunted  bear  and  deer  all  over  there," 
said  Eddring.  "The  main  current  across  this  big 
bend  ought  to  carry  us  inland  into  a  bayou  that 
runs  not  far  from  the  Big  House.  It  is  not  more 
than  twenty  miles  or  so  to  the  plantation.  If  I  can 
strike  the  course  of  the  Tippohatchee  bayou,  a  few 
hours  ought  to  take  us  through.  If  it  comes  dark 
before  we  get  there,  we  shall  have  to  camp,  that  is 
all  about  it.  If  a  fellow  tried  to  travel  through  in 
the  night-time,  he  might  land  at  Greeneville,  or  Vicks- 
burg,  or  anywhere  else." 

"Well,"  said  Wilson,  "if  you  must  go,  I  won't 
try  to  stop  you.  I  '11  have  the  skiff  fixed  up. ' ' 

So,  finally,  after  her  journey  up  the  river,  the 
Opclousas  Queen  rounded  the  thin  neck  of  the 
long  river  bend,  and  with  a  hoarse  growl  of  relief, 
rather  than  of  signal,  slowed  down  and  reversed, 
plowed  up  the  yellow  waters  into  billows  half -white, 
and  so  lay  breathing  heavily,  with  just  enough  way 
to  hold  her  against  the  current. 

During  the  entire  course  of  the  journey,  Eddring 
had  not  approached  either  Madame  Delchasse  or 
Miss  Lady  in  personal  conversation,  and  the  latter 


THE  WILDERNESS  295 

had  proved  quite  as  willing  to  avoid  him.  Madame 
Delchasse  had  taken  great  and  voluble  interest  in  mat- 
ters about  the  boat,  and  was  often  seen  on  deck.  To 
her  Eddring  now  sent  his  message,  which  brought  both 
the  ladies  to  the  lower  deck,  for  the  first  time  in  two 
days. 

"What,"  cried  madame,  "we  go  in  that  leedle 
boat!  Ah,  non!  I  stay  by  the  ship;  also  mademoi- 
selle.'5 

Miss  Lady  said  nothing;  she  looked  at  the  frail 
skiff,  the  turbulent  river,  and  the  great  woods  beyond, 
already  growing  mysterious  beneath  the  veil  of  com- 
ing evening. 

"Madame,"  said  Eddring,  "I  can't  argue  about  it. 
You  must  go. ' '  He  turned  upon  her  the  stern  face  of 
one  who,  having  assumed  all  responsibility,  exacts 
in  return  implicit  obedience. 

"We  shall  drown,"  said  madame. 

Eddring  turned  gravely  to  the  girl.  "There  is  no 
danger.  I  can  assure  you  of  that.  I  shall  do  my  best. 
I  am  sorry  that  it  is  so.  But  we  must  go.  It  is  the 
only  way  to  reach  Colonel  Blount's." 

Upon  Miss  Lady's  pale  face  there  sat  the  look  of 
one  resigned  with  fatalism  to  whatever  issue  might 
appear.  She  made  no  further  speech,  but  was  the 
first  to  step  into  the  boat.  Madame  Delchasse,  still 


296  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

grumbling,  followed  clumsily.  Eddring  helped  them 
in,  took  up  the  oars,  and  the  two  deck-hands,  who 
had  been  holding  the  skiff,  clambered  back  aboard  the 
Queen.  Eddring  settled  himself  to  the  oars,  and  they 
cast  off.  The  little  skiff  rocked,  tossed,  turned,  and 
headed  toward  the  shore  under  the  strong  stroke  of 
the  oars.  Presently  the  set  of  the  inbound  current 
aided  the  oars,  so  that  soon  they  were  at  the  fringe 
of  the  forest.  Eddring  rose  and  waved  a  hand  back 
to  the  watchers  who  were  looking  after  them  from  the 
guards  of  the  steamer.  The  Queen  roared  out  a  deep 
salute,  and  then  the  little  skiff  passed  out  of  sight 
into  the  wilderness. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  HOUSE  OF  HOEROR 

"Me,  I  have  thought  never  to  cook  again,"  said 
Madame  Delchasse,  "but  now  I  shall  have  the  hon- 
ger.  See !  if  I  had  the  coffee-pot  and  the  what-you- 
call  the  soss-pan,  I  should  make  of  this  the  grand 
peek-neek.  This  journey  through  the  h'wood,  it  is 
fine." 

As  madanae  spoke,  the  little  boat  was  hurrying  for- 
ward through  the  half-submerged  forest,  and  the 
party  had  by  this  time  reached  a  point  some  miles 
distant  from  their  embarkation  at  what  had  for- 
merly been  the  river-bank.  Of  shores  along  the  river 
proper  it  could  hardly  be  said  that  any  remained, 
and  at  this  point  of  pause,  near  to  one  of  the  long 
ridges  which  still  here  and  there  remained  above 
the  water,  there  appeared  small  trace  of  the  ac- 
customed landmarks.  Here,  deep  in  the  forest,  the 
inset  of  the  main  current  through  the  broken  levee 
was  arrested  by  the  forest  itself,  and  by  the  chan- 
nels of  many  intersecting  bayous.  It  was  not  a  river, 
but  a  vast,  shallow  lake  that  lay  about  them.  Water 

297 


298  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

was  everywhere,  and  in  this  wide  expanse  Eddring 
confessed  to  himself  that  he  had  lost  his  course  and 
had  no  definite  knowledge  of  the  way  to  find  it.  It 
gave  him  pleasure  to  see  that  the  spirits  of  madame 
were  buoyant,  and  that  even  Miss  Lady,  silent  as 
she  was  for  the  most  part,  seemed  to  lose  a  portion 
of  the  apathy  which  had  at  first  oppressed  her. 

Hoping  that  he  might  at  any  time  reach  country 
familiar  to  himself,  Eddring  sought  to  maintain  the 
spirits  of  his  companions  by  pointing  out  to  them 
the  unfamiliar  objects  of  the  world  in  which  they 
now  found  themselves.  Explaining  that  they  were 
quite  safe  in  their  little  craft,  he  showed  to  them 
the  repulsive  moccasin  snakes,  whose  rusty  forms 
lay  wreathed  on  the  logs  or  on  such  dry  ground  as 
here  and  there  appeared.  Again  he  showed  them 
the  log-like  bulk  of  the  alligator,  lying  motionless 
and  invisible  to  the  unpractised  eye;  or  called 
their  gaze  to  a  group  of  noble  wild  turkeys,  which 
craned  out  their  necks  from  their  perch  on  a  tall 
dead  tree. 

"The  game  is  all  driven  to  the  dry  ridges,"  said 
he.  "You  will  see  that  the  birds  and  beasts  are 
afraid  to  move.  Their  fright  makes  them  almost 
tame.  Do  you  see  that  little  fellow  there  ? ' ' 

He  pointed  out  a  wild  deer,  cowering  beside  a 


THE  HOUSE  OF  HORROR  299 

log  on  the  little  island  near  which  they  were  passing. 
Here  he  stopped,  and  disembarking,  soon  called  out  to 
them  that  he  had  seen  the  track  of  a  bear,  fresh  in  the 
loam  near-by.  They  being  terrified  at  this,  he  re- 
turned to  the  boat,  and  skirted  the  muddy  edge  of 
the  ridge,  showing  them  the  footprints  of  the  raccoon, 
small  and  baby-like,  the  round  tread  of  the  timber 
wolf,  the  pointed  footmark  of  the  wild  hog. 

"Look,"  said  he,  "here  is  where  an  otter  has  been 
playing," — and  he  showed  them  a  little  huddle  of 
twigs  and  dirt  scraped  together  at  the  end  of  a  log 
which  projected  over  the  water.  "Why  does  he  do 
it?"  he  said.  "I  don't  know.  It's  his  way  of  play- 
ing. There  are  a  great  many  strange  ways  in  the 
world  of  wild  things.  By  to-morrow  I  shall  have 
made  good  hunters  of  you  both." 

"To-morrow?"  cried  Madame  Delchasse;  and  Miss 
Lady  also  turned  upon  him  a  startled  and  supplicat- 
ing look. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "it's  no  use  to  promise  what  one 
can 't  be  sure  of  doing.  I  know  that  we  are  not  very 
far  from  the  Big  House  station.  We  can't  miss  it, 
because  we  can't  cross  the  railroad  without  knowing 
it,  and  you  know  the  railroad  would  lead  us  directly 
to  the  place.  At  the  same  time,  for  us  to  attempt 
traveling  in  the  night  might  mean  that  we  should 


300  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND, 

get  hopelessly  lost.  I  assure  you,  you  have  no  need 
to  be  alarmed.  There  is  plenty  in  the  boat  to  keep 
you  comfortable,  and,  as  madame  says,  we  will  just 
make  a  picnic  of  it.  I  am  sure  none  of  us  will  be 
the  worse  for  a  night  out  in  the  woods. ' ' 

Eddring  bent  steadily  to  his  oars.  He  was  forced 
to  admit  that  their  case  showed  small  improve- 
ment as  the  shadows  began  to  thicken.  He  stood 
up  in  the  boat  at  length  and  gazed  steadily 
at  a  little  ridge  of  dry  land  which  appeared  before 
him.  ''I  think  we'll  land  here,"  said  he,  "and 
make  our  camp  for  the  night. ' '  Miss  Lady  edged  to- 
ward madame  and  laid  a  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"My  shild,"  murmured  madame,  "yes,  yes,  it  is 
the  grand  peek-neek;  I,  Clarisse  Delchasse,  will  pro- 
tect you."  Rejoiced  that  matters  were  at  least  no 
worse  with  his  passengers,  John  Eddring  helped 
them  from  the  boat,  and  as  he  did  so  caught 
sight  of  the  tears  which  stood  in  Miss  Lady's 
eyes.  The  strain  of  the  last  few  days  had  begun  to 
tell,  and  as  she  looked  into  the  dense  shadows  of  the 
forest  in  this  precarious  spot  of  refuge,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  all  the  world  had  suddenly  gone  dark,  and 
must  so  remain  for  ever.  Eddring  was  wretched 
enough  without  this  sight,  but  he  went  methodically 
about  the  work  of  making  them  both  comfortable. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  HORROR  301 

"First,  the  fire,"  he  cried  gaily;  and  presently 
under  his  skilled  hands  a  tiny  flame  began  to  light 
up  the  gloom.  He  worked  rapidly,  for  now  night 
was  coming  on.  "Watch  me  build  the  house,"  he 
cried ;  and  soon  he  was  absorbed  in  his  own  work  of 
making  an  out-door  structure,  hunter  fashion,  as 
he  had  done  many  times  in  his  expeditions  in  this 
very  region.  He  cut  some  long  poles  and  thrust 
their  sharpened  ends  into  the  ground,  and  bending 
over  the  tops,  wove  them  together.  Then  he  thatched 
this  framework  with  bundles  of  fresh  green  cane 
cut  near  at  hand,  and  in  a  few  moments  had 
a  sort  of  wickiup.  On  the  bottom  of  this  he  threw 
brush  and  yet  more  cane,  and  then  spread  down  the 
blankets.  The  opening  of  the  little  house  was  to- 
ward the  fire,  and  presently  both  the  women  were 
sitting  within,  their  fears  allayed  by  the  sparkle  of 
the  cheering  flame. 

"But,  Monsieur,  where  you  yourself  sleep?" 
asked  madame. 

' '  Oh,  my  house  is  already  built, ' '  replied  Eddring, 
and  pointed  to  a  giant  oak-tree  some  fifty  yards 
away  in  the  little  glade.  "You  see  how,  the  knees 
of  the  big  tree  stand  out.  Well,  I  just  get  some 
pieces  of  bark,  and  put  them  down  on  the  ground,  and 
then  I  lean  back  against  the  tree-trunk,  and  the  dew 


302 

doesn't  bother  me  at  all.  Of  course,  the  main  thing 
is  to  keep  dry." 

"Sir,"  said  Miss  Lady,  almost  for  the  first  time 
accosting  him,  "do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  sit 
up  and  do  not  lie  down  to  sleep  at  all  during  the 
whole  night?  Why,  you  would  be  wretched.  You 
must  take  one  of  the  blankets,  at  least." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Eddring.  "I  have  sat  up  that 
way  many  a  night  on  the  hunt,  and  been  glad  enough 
of  so  good  a  chance.  Now,  you  ladies  begin  to  get 
ready  for  supper,  if  you  please.  Madame,  I  am  sure 
that  to-night  you  will  prepare  the  best  meal  of  your 
career.  I  think  we  can  promise  you  that  it  will  be 
enjoyed.  Excuse  me  now  for  a  while,  and  I  will  go 
and  see  about  some  more  wood.  An  open  fire  eats 
up  a  lot  of  wood  during  a  night. ' ' 

He  disappeared  down  a  faint  path  which  he  had 
detected  opening  into  the  cane  at  the  end  of 
their  little  glade.  His  real  purpose  was  to  explore 
this  path ;  for  there  now  came  upon  him  the  growing 
conviction  that  he  had  seen  this  place  before.  He 
found  the  path  to  be  plainer  than  the  usual  "hack" 
of  the  mounted  cane-brake  hunter,  and  here  and 
there  he  caught  sight  of  a  faint  blaze  upon  a  tree. 
Hurrying  along  through  the  enveloping  foliage  of 
the  cane,  he  had  traversed  some  three  or  four  hun- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  HORROR  303 

dred  yards  of  this  tangle  before  he  saw  a  thinning  of 
the  shadows  ahead  of  him,  and  came  out,  as  he  had 
more  than  half  expected  to  do,  at  the  edge  of  a  little 
opening  in  the  forest. 

There,  near  the  edge  of  the  cleared  space  whose 
surface  showed  even  now  the  prints  of  many  feet, 
he  saw  a  long,  low  house  of  logs.  It  was  as  he  had 
seen  it  years  ago !  It  was  now,  as  then,  the  temple  of 
the  tribesmen.  Around  it  now  swept,  open  and  un- 
controllable, Father  Messasebe,  building  anew  his 
wilderness. 

The  white  men  had  spared  this  temple.  Perhaps 
they  knew  that  sometime  it  would  serve  as  a  trap. 
And  so  it  had  served. 

That  there  had  been  fateful  happenings  at  this 
spot  Eddring  felt  even  before  he  had  stepped  out  into 
the  opening  before  him.  He  was  oppressed  by  a  heavy 
feeling  of  dread.  Yet  he  went  on,  looking  down  close- 
ly in  the  failing  light  at  the  footprints  which  marked 
the  ground. 

These  footprints  blended  confusedly,  leading  up  to 
the  door  of  the  house,  disappearing  in  the  rank  growth 
all  about.  And  crossing  these  human  trails  from  one 
side  to  the  other  of  the  narrow  island  left  by  the  ris- 
ing waters,  there  ran  a  strange  and  distinct  mark, 
as  though  one  had  swept  here  with  a  mighty  broom, 


304  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

or  had  dragged  across  the  ground  repeatedly  some 
soft  and  heavy  body !  In  this  path  there  were  marks 
of  feet  deeply  indented,  with  pointed  toes.  This 
trail,  these  foot-marks,  horrid,  suggestive,  led  up  to 
the  open  door.  Eddring  hesitated  to  look  in.  He 
knew  the  tracks  of  the  alligators,  but  guessed  not  why 
these  creatures  should  enter  a  building,  as  was  never 
their  wont  to  do.  It  required  determination  to  look 
into  the  door  of  what  he  knew  was  a  house  of  mystery, 
perhaps  of  horror. 

Within  the  long  room,  now  lighted  faintly  by  the 
late  twilight  which  filtered  through  the  heavy 
growth  about,  he  saw  dimly  the  long  benches  fas- 
tened to  the  walls,  as  they  had  been  when  he  first 
saw  this  place  years  before.  In  spite  of  himself,  he 
started  back  in  affright.  The  benches  were  tenanted ! 
He  could  see  figures  here  and  there,  a  row  of  them. 

Some  of  them  were  bending  forward,  some  sitting 
erect.  But  all  of  them  were  motionless,  the  postures 
of  all  were  strained,  as  though  they  were  bound! 
The  house  had  its  tenantry.  But  there  was  no 
central  figure  here  now,  no  leader,  no  exhorter, 
no  priest  nor  priestess.  There  was  no  shouting, 
nor  any  note  of  the  savage  drum.  The  drum 
itself,  its  head  broken  in,  the  drum  of  the  savage 
tribes,  lay  near  the  door,  its  mission  ended.  This 


THE  HOUSE  OF  HORROR  305 

audience,  whoever  or  whatever  it  might  be,  was  silent, 
as  though  sleep  had  made  fast  the  eyes  of  all ! 

Eddring  sprang  back  as  he  heard  the  scuffling  of 
feet  at  the  farther  end  of  the  hall.  His  teeth  chat- 
tered in  spite  of  himself,  as  this  Thing,  this  creature 
of  terror,  came  shuffling  forward  in  the  darkness, 
and  with  clanking  jaws  pushed  past  him,  to  disap- 
pear with  a  heavy  splash  in  the  water  which  now 
stood  close  at  hand. 

It  was  a  house  of  horror.  It  was  the  place  of  the 
black  man's  savage  religion  and  of  the  white  man's 
savage  justice.  Here  the  white  man  had  wrought 
sternly  in  the  name  of  his  civilization,  and  his  keel, 
departing  like  that  of  the  fierce  Norseman  in  the  an- 
cient past,  had  left  no  trail  on  the  waters  lapping  the 
shore  which  had  known  his  visitation. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  FOREST 

It  was  some  time  before  Eddring  could  trust  him- 
self to  appear  before  the  companions  whom  he  had 
left  at  the  little  bivouac.  Night  had  practically 
fallen  when  he  finally  emerged  into  the  little  glade, 
now  well-lighted  by  the  fire.  He  paused  at  the  edge 
of  the  cover  and  looked  at  the  picture  before  him. 
Sick  at  heart  and  full  of  horror  as  he  was  from  that 
which  he  had  seen,  none  the  less  he  felt  a  swift  burst 
of  savagery  come  upon  his  own  soul.  What  was  the 
world  to  him,  its  strivings,  its  disappointments,  its 
paltry  successes?  Almost  he  wished,  for  one  fierce 
instant,  that  he  might  exchange  the  world  beyond 
for  this  world  near  at  hand.  A  little  fire,  a  little 
shelter,  and  the  presence  of  the  woman  whom  he 
loved — what  more  could  the  world  give?  He  gazed 
hungrily  at  the  figure  of  the  tall  young  woman,  de- 
fined well  in  the  bright  firelight.  Yearning,  he  cov- 
eted the  endurance  of  the  picture,  saying  again  and 
again  to  himself,  "Would  this  might  last  for  ever, 
even  as  it  is!" 

Madame  Delchasse  meantime  was  adding  support 
306 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  FOREST  307 

to  her  well-founded  reputation  as  artist  in  matters 
culinary.  "When  presently  Eddring  joined  them  at 
the  fire,  he  was  invited  to  a  repast  in  which  madame 
had  done  wonders.  It  seemed  to  him  that  even  Miss 
Lady  began  to  revive  under  the  summons  of  these 
unusual  surroundings.  Once,  he  noted,  she  actually 
laughed. 

As  they  sat  on  the  rude  floor  of  cane-stalks,  en- 
gaged with  their  evening  meal,  there  came  suddenly 
from  across  the  forest  the  sound  of  a  long,  hoarse 
wail,  ending  in  a  tremulous  crescendo ;  the  cry  of  the 
panther,  rarely  heard  in  that  or  any  other  region. 
In  terror  the  women  sprang  to  each  other,  and  Ed- 
dring felt  Miss  Lady's  hand  close  tight  upon  his  arm 
in  her  unconscious  recognition  of  the  need  of  a  pro- 
tector. 

"What — what  was  it?"  she  cried. 

"Nothing,"  said  Eddring;  "nothing  but  a  cat." 

"A  cat?"  cried  madame.  "Never  did  I  hear  the 
cat  with  voice  so  big  like  that." 

' '  Wasn  't  it  a  panther  ? ' '  asked  Miss  Lady.  ' '  Will 
it  get  us?" 

"Yes,  Madame  Delchasse,"  said  Eddring,  "it's  a 
cat  about  eight  feet  long — a  panther,  as  Miss  Lady 
says.  But  it 's  a  mile  away,  and  it  doesn  't  want  to  get 
any  wetter  than  it  is ;  and  it  wouldn  't  hurt  us  anyhow. 


308  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

I  assure  you,  you  need  have  not  the  slightest  fear. 
Water  and  fire  are  not  exactly  in  the  panther's  line, 
so  you  can  rest  assured  that  he  will  not  trouble  you. 
He  wouldn't  even  have  screamed  that  way  if  his 
disposition  hadn  't  been  spoiled  by  all  this  water. ' ' 

Inwardly  he  noted  the  fact  that  Miss  Lady  did  not 
again  remove  to  a  greater  distance  from  him.  His 
heart  leaped  at  her  near  presence,  and  again  there 
came  the  fierce  demand  of  his  soul,  the  wish  that  this 
night  might  last  for  ever. 

Finally,  building  anew  the  fire,  and  showing  the 
two  how  they  might  best  use  their  blankets  to  make 
themselves  comfortable,  Eddring  withdrew  for  his 
vigil  at  the  tree-trunk.  Now  and  again  he  dozed, 
wearied  by  the  strain  and  the  physical  exertion  lately 
undergone.  Madame  Delchasse  -slept  heavily. 

Upon  her  couch  Miss  Lady  lay,  and  watched  the 
flickering  of  the  fire  and  the  heavy  masses  of  the 
shadows.  She  could  not  sleep.  There  came  upon  her 
the  feeling  of  unreality  in  her  surroundings  which 
is  experienced  by  nearly  all  civilized  human  beings 
when  thrown  into  the  uncivilized  surroundings  of 
nature.  It  all  seemed  to  her  like  some  rapid  and 
fevered  dream.  She  wondered  what  had  become  of 
Henry  Decherd,  what  had  been  the  cause  of  his 
sudden  departure  from  the  steamer.  She  resolved 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  FOREST  309 

to  summon  courage  on  the  morrow  and  to  accost  this 
uninvited  new-comer  upon  the  scenes  of  her  life. 
She  pondered  again  upon  this  strange  man;  asked 
herself  why  he  had  sought  her  out,  why  he  had  left 
her  so  soon  and  had  since  then  been  so  frigidly  aloof, 
even  though  he  still  carried  her  with  him  forward, 
virtually  a  prisoner.  By  all  rights  a  thief,  a  dis- 
honest man,  ought  not  to  be  a  gentleman ;  yet  strive 
as  she  might,  she  could  recall  no  single  instance 
where  the  conduct  of  this  man  had  been  anything 
but  that  of  a  gentleman,  delicate,  kindly,  brave,  un- 
selfish. Miss  Lady  could  not  understand.  The  shad- 
ows hung  too  black  over  all — the  shadows  of  the 
past,  of  the  future.  About  her  there  were  vague, 
mysterious  sounds,  rustlings,  coughings,  barkings, 
sometimes  sullen  splashes  in  the  water  not  far  away. 
Terrors  on  all  sides  oppressed  Miss  Lady's  soul.  She 
had  no  hope;  she  could  not  understand.  Her 
thoughts  were  in  part  upon  that  silent  figure  sitting 
in  the  darkness  beside  the  tree.  And  then  there 
came  again  the  voice  of  the  great  panther,  wailing 
across  the  woods.  Miss  Lady  could  endure  it  no 
longer.  She  sprang  up. 

"Sir!"  she  cried,  "Mr.  Eddring,  come!'*  And  so 
he  came  and  comforted  her  once  more,  his  voice  grave 
and  quiet,  fearless,  strong. 


310  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"I  will  build  up  the  fire,"  said  he,  "and  then  I 
will  sit  by  another  tree,  closer  to  the  camp  and  just 
back  of  your  house.  I  shall  be  between  you  and  the 
water,  and  you  need  not  be  afraid. ' ' 

And  then  there  came  about  a  wonderful  thing, 
which  not  even  Miss  Lady  herself  could  understand. 
She  ceased  to  fear !  She  found  herself  wondering  at 
the  meaning  of  the  word  ' '  depend. ' '  In  spite  of  her- 
self, in  spite  of  all  the  evidence  in  her  hands  to  the 
contrary,  she  felt  herself  growing  vaguely  sure  that 
she  could  depend  upon  this  man.  Gradually  the 
night  lost  its  terrors.  The  whispers  of  the  leaves 
grew  kindly  and  not  ominous.  The  fire  seemed  to 
her  a  reviving  flame  of  hope.  Presently  she  slept. 

In  the  night  the  wild  life  of  the  forest  went  on. 
The  barkings  and  rustlings  and  splashings  still  were 
heard,  and  the  great  cat  called  again.  But  all  these 
savage  things  went  by,  passing  apart,  avoiding  this 
spot  where  the  White  Man,  most  savage  and  most 
potent  of  all  animals,  had  made  his  lair  and  now 
guarded  his  own. 

In  the  night  the  voice  of  the  wilderness  spoke  to 
John  Eddring :  ' '  Old,  old  are  we ! "  the  trees  seemed 
to  whisper:  "Only  the  strong!  Only  the  strong!" 
This  seemed  the  whisper  of  the  wind  in  its  monotone. 
He  sat  upright,  rigid,  wide-awake,  his  eyes  looking 


THE  NIGHT  IN  THE  FOREST  311 


straight  before  him  in  his  vigil,  his  heart  throbbing 
boldly,  strangely.  All  the  fierceness,  all  the  desire, 
all  the  sternness  of  the  wilderness  in  its  aeons  ran  in 
his  blood.  His  heart  throbbed  steadily.  Peace  came 
to  his  soul  now  as  never  before ;  since  now  he  knew 
that  he  was  of  the  strong,  that  he  was  ready  for  life 
and  what  combat  it  might  bring. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE 

The  fire  lay  gray  in  ashes  at  the  dawn,  when  Ed- 
dring  awoke,  and  the  gray  reek  of  the  cane-brake 
mist  was  over  everything.  The  leaves  of  the  trees 
and  of  the  cane  dripped  moisture,  and  the  dew  stood 
also  in  heavy  beads  upon  the  roof  of  the  little  green- 
thatched  house.  A  short  distance  apart  Eddring 
built  another  fire.  Presently  the  sleepers  in  the  lit- 
tle house  awoke,  and  he  saw  emerge  madame,  tuck- 
ing at  her  hair,  and  Miss  Lady,  in  spite  of  all  fresh 
and  rosy  in  the  wondrous  possession  of  youth,  as 
though  she  were  a  Dryad  born  of  these  surrounding 
trees.  There  seemed  to  sit  upon  her  the  primeval 
vigor  of  the  wilderness.  She  came  to  him  gaily  enough 
and  said  good  morning  as  though  there  had  been  but 
recent  friendship  and  not  aloofness.  She  pushed  back 
her  hair,  and  smoothed  down  her  skirt  and  combed  out 
with  her  fingers  the  bunch  of  bright  ribbons  at  her 
waist.  She  and  madame,  having  made  ablutions  at 
the  island  brink,  returned,  all  the  fresher  and  more 
laughing.  Eddring 's  heart  quickened  in  his  bosom  as 
he  saw  Miss  Lady  smile  once  more. 

312 


AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE  313 

"Come,"  said  she,  "let's  explore  our  desert  island; 
yonder 's  such  a  pretty  little  path, ' ' — and  she  pointed 
down  the  path  which  Eddring  had  already  investi- 
gated. 

"No,"  he  said,  "the  cane  is  very  wet;  you'd  better 
sit  close  by  the  fire,  so  that  you  will  not  feel  the  damp. 
Now,  I  will  get  the  breakfast;  and  I  promise  you, 
this  is  to  be  our  last  meal  in  the  forest. ' ' 

"Our  last?"  said  madame.    "What  you  mean?" 

"In  a  couple  of  hours  we  shall  be  at  the  Big 
House,"  said  Eddring.  "I  have  looked  about,  and  I 
know  this  place  perfectly.  We  are  only  four  or  five 
miles  from  the  station,  and  the  way  will  be  plain." 

"Monsieur,"  said  madame,  "I  shall  be  almost 
sorry.  It  is  the  fine  peek-neeJc.  Never  have  I  slept 
so  before." 

"I,  too,  have  slept  nicely,"  said  Miss  Lady,  "and 
I  want  to  thank  you.  Shall  we  be  out  of  the  wood 
so  soon?"  There  was  small  elation  in  her  own 
voice,  after  all.  In  her  soul  there  was  a  wild,  inex- 
plicable longing  that  this  present  hour  might  endure. 
Fear  was  gone,  in  some  way,  she  knew  not  how.  What 
there  might  be  ahead,  Miss  Lady  did  not  know.  Here 
in  the  forest  she  felt  safe. 

The  hurried  breakfast  was  soon  despatched  and 
Eddring,  taking  aboard  his  passengers  once  more, 


314  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

pushed  out  into  the  broad  sea  which  lay  through  all 
the  heavy  forest.  The  nearest  road  to  the  station 
was  under  water,  and,  as  it  offered  few  obstructions, 
Eddring  for  the  most  part  followed  its  curves  for  the 
remainder  of  his  boat  journey.  At  length,  as  he  had 
said,  he  brought  up  within  sight  of  the  telegraph 
poles  along  the  railway.  He  passed  by  boat  even  be- 
yond the  little  station-house,  and  landed  at  the  edge 
of  what  had  been  the  Big  House  lawn. 

On  every  side  there  was  ruin  and  desolation.  The 
rude  fence  of  the  railway  track  had  caught  and  held 
a  certain  amount  of  wreckage.  Most  of  the  field 
cabins  were  above  the  water,  but  others  were  half 
out  of  sight,  deep  in  the  flood.  Fences  were  well-nigh 
obliterated.  Half  of  the  Big  House  plantation  was 
under  water.  Above  all  this  scene  of  ruin,  high, 
strong  and  grim,  the  Big  House  itself  stood,  now 
silent  and  apparently  deserted.  Toward  it  the  voy- 
agers hurried.  It  was  not  until  they  knocked  at  the 
door  that  they  met  signs  of  life. 

In  response  to  repeated  summons  there  appeared 
at  the  door  the  gaunt  figure  of  Colonel  Calvin 
Blount  himself,  shirt-sleeved,  unshaven,  pale,  his  left 
arm  tightly  bandaged  to  his  side,  his  hawk-like  eye 
alone  showing  the  wonted  fire  of  his  disposition.  Each 


AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE  315 

man  threw  an  arm  over  the  other's  shoulder  after 
their  hands  had  met  in  silent  grasp. 

"I  am  not  too  late/'  said  Eddring.  "Thank 
God!" 

"No,  not  quite  too  late,"  said  Blount.  "There  is 
a  little  left— not  much.  Who's  with  you?" 

"The  one  you  sent  for,"  said  Eddring,  stepping 
aside,  "and  this  is  Madame  Delchasse,  the  one 
woman,  Colonel,  whom  you  and  I  ought  to  thank 
with  all  our  hearts.  She  has  been  the  friend  of  Miss 
Lady  when  certainly  she  needed  one." 

Blount  stepped  forward,  a  smile  softening  his 
grim  face.  "Oh,  Miss  Lady,  Miss  Lady,"  he  cried, 
extending  his  unhampered  hand.  "You  ran  away 
from  us!  You  didn't  do  right!  What  made  you? 
Where  have  you  been  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  ? ' ' 
Miss  Lady's  eyes  only  filled,  and  she  found  no  speech. 

"But  now  you're  back,"  Blount  went  on.  "You 
need  friends,  and  you've  come  back  to  the  right 
place.  Here  are  three  friends  of  yours.  Madame 
Delchasse — "  this  as  Miss  Lady  drew  her  companion 
toward  him  with  one  hand,  "I  am  glad  to  see  you. 
If  you  ever  befriended  this  girl,  you  are  our  friend 
here.  Come  in,  and  we  will  take  care  of  you  the  best 
we  can,  though  we've  not  much  left — not  much  left. 

"You  see,"  said  he,  turning  toward  Eddring,  "that 


316  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

boy  Jack  of  yours  came  down  with  the  news  of  this 
uprising  that  I  mentioned  in  my  message.  He  brought 
along  his  woman;  and  I  must  say  that  though  I  don't 
much  mind  this — "  he  pointed  to  his  injured  arm — 
"if  I  have  to  eat  that  woman's  cooking  much  longer, 
I  'm  going  to  die. ' ' 

Then  it  was  that  Clarisse  Delchasse  arose  grandly 
to  the  occasion.  "Monsieur  Colonel,"  she  said,  as 
she  divested  herself  of  her  bonnet,  "I  have  swear  I 
would  cook  no  more;  but  me?  I  am  once  the  best 
cook  in  New  Orleans.  I  cook  not  for  money,  ah, 
non!  but  from  pity!  Sir,  humanity  it  is  so  outrage' 
by  the  poor  cook  that  I  have  pity!  So,  Monsieur, 
I  have  pity  also  of  you.  Show  me  this  girl  that  can 
not  cook,  and  show  me  also  the  kitshen.  Ah,  we 
shall  see  whether  Clarisse  Delchasse  have  forget!" 

"Show  her,  Miss  Lady,"  said  Blount.  "Show  her. 
The  place  is  yours.  Oh,  girl,  we're  glad  enough  to 
have  you  back.  Go  get  that  gold-toothed  woman  of 
Jack's,  go  get  'em  all,  if  you  can  find  any  of  'em 
around.  Get  Bill,  he's  around  somewhere — get  any 
of  'em  you  can  find,  and  tell  'em  to  take  care  of  you. 
Child,  child,  it's  glad  enough  we  all  are  to  have  you 
back  again.  Ah,  Miss  Lady,  what  made  you  go  away  1 ' ' 

Even  as  he  spoke,  Madame  Delchasse,  rolling  up 
her  cuffs,  was  marching  down  the  hall.  "By  jinks!" 


AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE  317 

said  Blount,  looking  after  her  admiringly.  "By 
jinks!  It  looks  like  things  were  going  to  happen, 
don't  it?"  His  strained  features  relaxed  into  a  smile. 

"But  now  come  on,  son,"  he  said,  turning  to  Ed- 
dring,  "you  and  I  have  got  to  have  a  talk.  I'll  tell  you 
about  some  of  the  things  that  have  happened.  We've 
been  busy  here  in  Tullahoma." 

Drawing  apart  into  another  room,  Blount  met  Ed- 
dring's  hurried  queries  as  to  his  own  safety,  and  heard 
in  turn  the  strange  story  of  the  late  voyage  and  the 
incidents  immediately  preceding  it.  He  told  Blount 
of  the  discovery  of  Miss  Lady  living  in  the  care  of  the 
old  Frenchwoman,  Madame  Delchasse — Miss  Lady,  as 
they  had  both  more  than  suspected,  none  other  than 
Louise  Loisson,  the  mysterious  dancer  in  the  city  of 
New  Orleans;  told  of  the  plot  which  he  was  satisfied 
had  been  the  motive  of  Henry  Decherd  in  inducing 
Miss  Lady  to  accompany  him  upon  the  steamer. 
Blount  added  rapid  confirmation  here  and  there,  and 
presently  they  came  to  a  topic  which  could  no  longer 
be  avoided. 

"I  know  what  was  done,"  said  Eddring  at  length, 
after  a  slight  pause  in  the  conversation.  ' '  I  found  the 
place  where  it  all  happened.  That's  where  we  spent 
the  night,  on  the  ridge,  near  the  house." 

"Did  they  see?    Did  they  know?"  asked  Blount, 


318  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

nodding  toward  the  place  where  the  two  women  had 
disappeared. 

"No,"  said  Eddring.  "I  did  not  tell  them.  Blount, 
it's  awful.  Where's  the  law  gone  in  this  country?" 

"Law?"  cried  Blount,  fiercely,  "we  were  the  law! 
We  sent  for  that  nigger  sheriff — the  one  they  elected 
for  a  joke — hell  of  a  joke,  wasn't  it? — and  he 
wouldn't  come.  We  had  with  us  the  old  sheriff,  Jim 
Peters,  a  good  officer  in  this  county,  as  you  know, 
before  now.  We  had  with  us  every  white  voter  in 
this  precinct,  every  tax-payer.  We  found  them,  these 
levee-cutting,  house-burning  fools,  right  at  their  work. 
We  left  some  of  them  dead  there,  and  run  some  into 
the  cane,  and  we  took  the  balance  over  to  that  church 
of  theirs  which  you  saw.  The  water  wasn't  so  high 
then  as  you  say  it  is  now.  There  was  a  regular  fight, 
and  the  niggers  were  plumb  desperate.  They  had 
guns.  Jim  Bowles,  down  below  here,  was  shot  pretty 
bad,  though  I  reckon  he  '11  get  well.  I  was  shot,  too — 
not  bad,  but  enough  to  make  me  some  dizzy.  Jim 
Peters — and  I  reckon  he  was  the  real  officer  of  the 
law — was  shot,  too,  so  bad  that  he  died  pretty  soon. 
Now  I  reckon  you  can  tell  what  we  found  to  be  at 
the  bottom  of  this,  and  who  it  was  that's  been  making 
all  this  deviltry  here  for  years." 

"Delphine!" 


AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE  319 

"It  was  nobody  else,"  said  Blount.  "You  talk 
about  human  tigers,  and  fiends,  and  all  that  kind  of 
thing;  that  woman  beat  anything  I  ever  did  see  or 
hear  of.  She  was  brave  as  a  lion.  Peters  and  Bowles 
and  I  closed  in  on  her,  wanting  to  take  her,  but  she 
fought  like  a  man,  and  a  brave  one.  She  had  two 
six-shooters,  and  she  dropped  us,  all  three  of  us;  and 
then  before  the  others  could  close  in  on  her,  she 
turned  loose  on  herself,  and  killed  herself  dead  as  hell. 
She  didn't  see  the  finish  of  the  others." 

Eddring  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  inwardly 
thanked  Providence  that  he  himself  had  not  been 
present  at  such  a  scene. 

Blount  resumed  presently.  "Peters  didn't  die 
right  away,"  said  he.  "He  lay  there  with  his  head 
propped  on  a  coat  rolled  up  for  a  piller,  and  he 
talked  to  us  all  like  we  was  at  home  in  the  parlor. 
'Keep  on  with  it,  boys,'  said  he.  'Do  this  thorough. 
Make  this  a  white  man's  country;  or  if  you  kain't, 
don't  leave  no  white  men  alive  in  it.'  Then  after 
a  while  he  turns  to  me  and  says  he,  'Colonel,  you 
know  I'm  not  a  rich  man.  Now  I've  got  a  couple  of 
mighty  fine  b  'ah-dogs,  and  I  want  to  give  'em  to  you ; 
but  if  you  don't  mind,  I'd  like  mighty  well  if  you'd 
send  my  wife  over  a  good  cow.  She's  going  to  be 
left  in  pretty  poor  shape,  I'm  afraid,  for  you  know 


320  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

how  things  have  been  going  on  the  plantations.'  I 
told  him  I  would.  We  was  both  laying  on  the 
ground  together.  I  told  him  I  would  take  care  of  his 
folks,  for  he  was  a  friend  of  mine,  and  the  right  kind 
of  man.  He  talked  on  a  while  like  that,  and  finally 
he  says,  'Well,  boys,  I'm  not  going  to  live,  and  you've 
got  a  heap  to  do  right  now,  and  I  mustn't  keep  you 
from  it.  Jake,'  says  he,  'you  Jake,  come  here.' — 
Jake  was  his  nigger  boy  that  he  always  kept  around 
with  him.  We  had  three  or  four  good  darkies  with  us. 
My  boy  Bill,  out  there,  was  along,  and  this  Jake  and 
some  others.  'Jake,'  says  Jim  Peters  to  this  boy, 
'come  around  here  an'  take  this  piller  out  from  un- 
der my  head.  Lay  me  down,  and  lemme  die ! '  Jake 
he  didn't  want  to,  but  Jim  says  to  him  again,  'Jaket 
damn  you,'  says  he,  'do  like  I  tell  you';  so  then  Jake 
he  took  the  piller  out,  and  Jim  he  just  lay  back  and 
gasped  once,  '  Oh ! '  like  that,  and  he  was  gone.  I  call 
that  dying  like  a  gentleman,"  said  Blount. 

' '  The  poor  fools, ' '  presently  went  on  the  firm  voice 
of  the  man  who  was  recounting  these  commonplaces 
of  the  recent  savage  scenes,  "they  think,  and  they 
told  us,  some  of  them,  that  they've  got  the  North  be- 
hind them.  They  think  the  time  is  going  to  come 
when  they  won 't  have  to  work  any  more.  They  want 
to  make  all  this  Delta  black,  and  not  white.  If  we 


AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE  321 

could  give  it  to  them  and  fence  them  in  we  would  be 
well  rid  of  the  whole  proposition,  North  and  South 
alike.  These  poor  fools  say  that  the  North  will  make 
another  war  and  set  them  free  again !  There  11  never 
be  another  war  between  the  South  and  the  North. 
Next  time  it  will  be  North  and  South  together,  against 
the  slaves,  white  and  black.  But  as  to  the  Delta  going 
black,  while  we  men  in  here  are  left  alive — well,  I  want 
to  say  we'll  never  live  to  see  it.  If  the  people  up  North 
could  only  know  the  trouble  they  make — could  only 
know  that  that  trouble  lands  hardest  on  the  niggers, 
I  think  maybe  they'd  change  a  few  of  their  theories. 
They  don't  understand.  They  think  that  maybe  after 
a  while  they  can  make  us  people  think  that  black  is 
white,  and  white  is  black.  Carry  that  out,  and  it 
means  extermination,  on  the  one  side  or  the  other. 

"Law?"  he  went  on  bitterly;  "I  wish  you'd  tell 
me  what  is  the  law.  Good  God,  we  white  men  in  this 
country  are  anxious  enough  in  our  hearts  to  settle  all 
these  things.  We  want  to  be  law-abiding,  but  how  can 
we,  unless  we  begin  everything  all  over  again  ?  Law  ? 
You  tell  me,  what  is  the  law ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XV 

CERTAIN  MOTIVES 

Miss  Lady  and  her  stout-hearted  friend,  Clarisse 
Delchasse,  found  abundance  at  hand  to  engage  their 
activities.  Miss  Lady  ran  from  one  part  to  another 
of  the  great  house  which  once  she  had  known  so  famil- 
iarly. Everywhere  was  an  unlovely  disorder  and 
confusion,  which  spoke  of  shiftlessness  and  lack  of 
care.  The  touch  of  woman's  hand  had  long  been 
wanting.  Colonel  Blount,  in  the  hands  of  his  indif- 
ferent servants,  had  indeed  seen  all  things  go  to  ruin 
about  him.  To  Miss  Lady,  concerned  with  the  swift 
changes  in  her  own  life,  wondering  what  the  future 
might  presently  have  in  store  for  her,  all  this  seemed 
a  sorry  home-coming.  She  leaned  her  head  against 
the  door  and  wept  in  a  sudden  sense  of  loneliness; 
yet  presently  she  lost  in  part  this  feeling  in  a  greater 
access  of  pity  which  she  felt  for  the  helpless  master 
of  the  Big  House,  who  had  been  living  thus  abandoned 
and  alone.  With  this  there  came  the  woman-like 
wish  to  restore  the  place  to  some  semblance  of  a  home. 
Even  as  she  dried  her  eyes,  to  her  entered  presently 
madame,  with  her  sleeves  rolled  to  the  elbow  and  her 
face  aglow  in  the  noble  ardor  of  housekeeping. 

322 


CERTAIN  MOTIVES  323 

"Voild!"  she  cried.  "I  have»foun' it!  I  have  dig 
it  h'out.  Here  is  the  soss-pan  of  copper.  It  was 
throw'  away.  It  was  disspise'.  Mais  oui,  but  now  I 
shall  cook!  This  house  it  is  ruin'.  Such  a  place  I 
never  have  seen  since  I  begin.  You  and  I,  Mademoi- 
selle, it  is  for  us  to  make  this  a  place  fit  for  the  to- 
live — but  you,  what  is  it?  Ah,  Mademoiselle,  why 
you  weep  1  Come,  come  to  me ! ' '  And  Miss  Lady  was 
indeed  fain  to  lay  her  head  upon  the  broad  shoulders, 
to  feel  the  comforting  embrace  of  madame  's  fat  arms. 

' '  H  'idgit ! ' '  cried  madame,  suddenly,  starting  back. 
"H'idgit  congenital!  H'ass  most  tremenjous!  Fool 
par  excellence!" 

Miss  Lady  gazed  at  her  in  wonder.  "Auntie,"  she 
cried,  "who?" 

"Who  should  it  be  but  that  M'sieu  Eddrang?"  re- 
plied madame.  ' '  For  a  time  it  is  like  the  book.  Now 
it  is  not  like  the  book.  Ah,  if  I,  Clarisse  Delchasse, 
were  a  man,  and  I  take  the  lady  away  from  one  man, 
I'd  h'run  away  with  her  myself,  me,  and  I'd  keep  on 
the  h'run.  But  M'sieu  Eddrang,  how  is  it  it  is  that 
he  does?  Bah!  He  does  not  speak  t'ree,  four  word 
to  you  the  whole  time  on  the  boat.  You,  who  havq 
been  the  idol  of  the  young  gentilhommes  of  New  Or. 
leans — you,  who  have  been  worship'!  Now,  it  is  not 
one  man,  and  it  is  not  another,  although  ma  'tite  fille, 


324  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

she  is  alone,  here  in  this  desert  execrable.  Bah !  It  is 
for  you  to  disspise  that  M'sieu  Eddrang.  He  is  not 
grand  homme.  Come.  I  take  you  back  to  New  Or- 
leans. ' ' 

Miss  Lady  looked  at  her  with  a  curious  shade  of 
perplexity  on  her  face.  "You  mistake,  auntie,"  said 
she.  "I  do  not  wish  to  be  back  at  New  Orleans.  I 
am  done  with  the  stage — I'll  never  dance  again.  I 
am — I'm  just  lonesome — I  don't  know  why.  I  have 
been  so  troubled.  I  don't  know  where  I  belong. 
Auntie,  it's  an  awful  feeling  not  to  know  that  you  be- 
long somewhere,  or  to  some  one. ' ' 

"You  billong  to  me,"  said  Madame  Delchasse, 
stoutly.  "As  to  that  h'idgit, — no,  never!" 

"But  Mr.  Eddring  brought  us  safely  through  the 
forest,"  said  Miss  Lady,  arguing  now  for  him.  "I 
don't  know  what  became  of  Mr.  Decherd,  or  why  he 
left  us,  but  we  can't  accuse  Mr.  Eddring  of  anything 
ungentlemanly  after  that  time.  But  why  was  he  so 
anxious  to  come?  "Why  was  Colonel  Blount  so  anx- 
ious? I  don't  understand  all  these  things.  And  Mr. 
Eddring  and  Colonel  Cal  seem  to  want  to  talk  to  each 
other,  and  not  to  us." 

"Bah!  Those  men!"  said  Madame  Delchasse. 
' '  What  can  they  do  but  for  us  ?  This  place,  it  is  horri- 
ble neglect'.  But  come,  I  show  you  my  soss-pan." 


CERTAIN  MOTIVES  325 

As  Miss  Lady  had  said,  Blount  and  Eddring  were 
long  and  eagerly  engaged  in  conversation.  They  were 
rapidly  running  over  the  new  links  in  the  strange 
chain  of  evidence  which  had  now  for  some  time  been 
forging,  Eddring  being  especially  curious  now  as  to 
Blount 's  discoveries  in  connection  with  the  girl  Del- 
phine. 

"It's  plain  enough,"  said  Blount,  finally,  "that 
this  thing  between  Decherd  and  Delphine  had  been  go- 
ing on  for  a  long  time.  Delphine  left  a  good  many 
papers,  which  we  found  among  her  belongings.  It's 
all  turned  out  just  about  as  we  figured  before  you 
went  to  New  Orleans;  but  we  found  one  letter  from 
Decherd  to  Delphine  that  uncovered  his  hand  com- 
pletely, and  it  was  this,  to  my  notion,  that  made  Del- 
phine so  desperate." 

"Let  me  have  that  letter,  Cal." 

"All  right,  I'll  get  it  for  you  after  a  while,  along 
with  all  the  other  papers.  It  gives  the  whole  thing 
away.  He  just  told  her  he  was  through  with  her, 
and  with  Mrs.  Ellison,  too.  Told  her  he  wouldn't  send 
her  no  more  money,  and  turned  her  loose  to  take  care 
of  herself  the  best  she  could.  He  allowed  that  she, 
and  Mrs.  Ellison,  too,  could  do  what  they  wanted  to. 
That  was  when  he  told  Delphine  that  if  she  made  him 
any  trouble  he'd  come  out  and  charge  her  with  the 


326  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

train  wreck.  He  was  the  planner  of  that  wreck.  He 
knew  right  where  that  log-pile  was  at.  He  wanted  an- 
other accident  on  that  railroad,  and  he  wanted  Del- 
phine  mixed  up  in  it,  so  he  could  control  her  after 
that.  She  was  willing  enough,  because  by  that  time  I 
reckon  she  just  about  hated  all  the  world.  And  De- 
cherd  came  down  on  that  very  train,  and  got  off  at  our 
station  just  before  the  smash.  There  was  a  little  dan- 
ger in  that,  but  at  the  same  time  it  was  the  best  way 
in  the  world  to  rid  himself  of  all  suspicion.  After  the 
wreck  he  just  mixed  with  the  crowd,  and  nobody 
thought  of  him  one  way  or  the  other.  Pretty  smooth, 
wasn't  it? 

"Oh,  he  had  nerve,  too,  that  fellow  did.  He  wasn't 
scared,  at  least  not  of  these  two  women,  although 
I'm  right  sure  Mrs.  Ellison  and  he  might  have 
had  reason  to  be  scared  of  the  law  in  some  of  their 
carryings-on  before  now.  It  is  easy  enough  to  see 
that  Mrs.  Ellison  never  was  Miss  Lady's  mother." 

"No,"  said  Eddring,  "that  couldn't  have  been. 
Some  day  we'll  know  all  about  that.  A  good  lawyer 
might  get  at  the  truth,  even  yet." 

' '  Good  lawyer  ? ' '  said  Blount.    ' '  How  about  you  ? ' ' 

Eddring  shook  his  head. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Blount. 

"Well,"  said  Eddring,  bitterly,  "I  told  you  I'd 


CERTAIN  MOTIVES  327 

bring  Miss  Lady  through,  and  I  did.  But  that  ends  it. 
I  am  neither  lawyer  nor  friend  for  any  young  woman 
who  thinks  I'm  a  thief." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?" 
' '  Well,  she  told  •  me  to  my  own  face  that  I  stole 
that  list  of  judgment  claims  from  my  own  railroad. 
She  told  me  that  I  was  dishonest.     She  forbade  me 
ever  to  see  her  again. ' ' 

"Seems  like  you  did  see  her  again,"  said  Blount, 
philosophically.  "Well  now,  you  just  think  over 
both  sides  of  that.  You  want  to  forget  some  of  the 
things  women  say." 

"I'll  forget  nothing,"  replied  Eddring.  "I  don't 
need  any  advice  in  such  matters  as  that.  No  man, 
and  no  woman,  can  accuse  me  in  that  way  and  ever 
make  it  right  without  coming  to  me  voluntarily  and 
making  apology  and  explanation.  I  say  voluntarily, 
meaning  for  a  woman.  If  it  were  a  man,  I  'd  take  the 
first  steps  myself." 

"Oh,  well,  get  your  feathers  up,  if  you  want  to," 
said  Blount.  "I  suppose  every  fellow  is  entitled  to 
his  own  kind  of  damned  foolishness.  First  thing,  let's 
go  on  through  with  this  Delphine  business.  Now,  was 
that  girl  crazy,  or  was  she  just  a  natural  devil  ?  Folks 
mostly  have  reasons  for  doing  things." 

"I  should  think  this  letter  you  mention  would  ex- 


328  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

plain  everything  for  Delphine,"  said  Eddring.  "She 
was  born  a  good  hater,  and  she  was  surely  misled  and 
deceived  for  years — finally  thrown  over  and  taunted." 

"But  where  did  they  first  hook  up  together,  and 
what  made  'em?" 

"No  doubt  she  and  Decherd  knew  each  other  be- 
fore either  came  to  your  place.  Decherd 's  main  mo- 
tive was  money.  Delphine  was  no  doubt  his  mistress, 
even  here ;  but  he  was  looking  after  the  legal  side  of 
matters  all  the  time.  What  he  promised  Delphine  no 
one  knows.  It  looks  as  though  he  and  Mrs.  Ellison 
were  hunting  in  couple,  too.  Now,  Mrs.  Ellison  had 
brains,  and  she  was  an  attractive  woman,  too — full  of 
sex,  full  of  love  and  hate,  and  full  of  unscrupulous- 
ness  as  well.  Rather  a  dangerous  proposition,  I 
should  say,  to  have  right  here  in  your  own  house. 
Now,  here  was  Decherd  mixed  up  with  two,  or  per- 
haps all  three  of  these  women  at  the  same  time !  That 
took  nerve." 

"I  should  say  it  did,"  said  Blount.  "It  was  the 
same  sort  of  nerve  a  fellow  has  to  have  when  he  starts 
on  across  a  trembling  bog.  He  just  keeps  on  a-run- 
ning." 

"Well,  he  had  to  keep  running,  sure  as  you're 
born.  A  fine  situation,  all  around,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,"  said  Blount,  tersely.    "If  I  had  known  all 


CERTAIN  MOTIVES  329 

that  was  going  on  here,  I  wouldn't  maybe  have  felt 
altogether  easy  about  it." 

"Well,  Miss  Lady's  going  away  helped  Decherd. 
By  this  time  he  had  to  lighten  cargo  somewhere. 
"We  don't  know  about  his  first  relations  with  Mrs. 
Ellison,  and  we  don't  know  just  how  he  got  rid  of 
her.  Perhaps  he  didn't  quite  want  to  dispense 
with  Mrs.  Ellison,  since  he  might  need  her  in 
legal  matters  later  on.  He  wanted  to  get  rid  of  Del- 
phine,  but  he  couldn't  kill  her  outright,  and  illegally, 
so  he  resolved  to  get  her  killed  legally  if  he  could !  I 
have  no  doubt  in  the  world,  Cal,  that  Decherd  planned 
the  train  wreck.  Maybe  he  thought  it  meant  more 
damage  suits ;  but  I  think  as  you  do,  his  main  reason 
was  to  get  rid  of  Delphine.  He  probably  hid  the 
handkerchief  under  the  log-pile.  He  probably  was 
glad  to  see  the  dogs  run  the  trail  right  to  your  door. 
But  Delphine  had  a  nerve  of  her  own.  I  have  no 
doubt  it  was  she  who  turned  your  pack  loose,  and 
wiped  out  the  sheriff's  trail  right  there." 

"By  jinks!"  said  Blount,  rubbing  his  chin  thought- 
fully. "Things  were  happening,  right  around  here." 

' '  They  were  happening,  and  they  are  not  done  hap- 
pening yet.  Now,  I  've  brought  you  Miss  Lady.  You 
take  care  of  her.  Better  keep  that  Frenchwoman 
here,  too,  if  you  can.  Decherd  may  turn  up  again 


330  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

sometime,  or  maybe  Mrs.  Ellison,  though  I  think  De- 
cherd's  teeth  are  pretty  well  pulled.  I  can't  act  as 
Miss  Lady's  lawyer,  but  I'll  promise  to  act  as  your 
friend." 

"And  hers?" 

"Yes,  and  hers,"  said  Eddring,  hesitatingly.  "We 
are  hardly  through  with  all  this  yet." 

"It's  been  pretty  bad  down  here,"  said  the  old 
planter. 

"Yes,  and  we  know  now  how  it  happened  and  who 
was  at  the  head  of  the  trouble,  and  what  cat's-paws 
were  used  in  it  all.  Decherd  fails  in  his  first  attempt 
to  get  rid  of  Delphine  legally,  so  he  stirs  her  up  to 
still  worse  acts ;  tells  her  there  is  no  profit  in  law  and 
order,  but  only  in  destruction.  He  tells  her  how 
to  incite  these  ignorant  niggers;  how  to  bring  up 
all  the  old  talk  of  their  day  of  deliverance,  the  time 
when  they  won't  have  to  work,  the  time  when  they 
will  be  not  only  the  equals,  but  the  superiors  of  the 
whites.  He  tells  Delphine  that  she  is  the  naturally 
appointed  Queen  of  these  people.  She  is  savage 
enough  to  fit  in  with  all  their  savagery.  She  does 
rule  it  as  a  queen.  In  her  soul  there  are  thoughts, 
wild  thoughts  which  you  and  I  can  never  understand, 
because  we  are  white,  and  all  white.  Delphine  is 
neither  white  nor  black,  neither  red,  nor  white,  nor 


CERTAIN  MOTIVES  331 

black.  She  is  a  product  of  race  amalgamation,  a 
monstrosity,  a  horror,  the  germ  of  a  national  destruc- 
tion. She  is  a  queen — a  queen  of  annihilation! 

"And  so  this  thing  went  on,"  resumed  Eddring, 
after  a  time,  "this  plotting  which  meant  war  and 
destruction,  not  for  this  household  alone,  nor  this  dis- 
trict, nor  this  state,  but  for  this  nation!  What  pre- 
vented it?  I'll  tell  you.  It  was  our  Miss  Lady. 
It  was  the  White  Woman,  the  white  woman  of  Ameri- 
ca. Whatever  happens,  whatever  stands  or  falls, 
whatever  is  the  law  or  is  not  the  law,  that  is  the  thing 
to  be  cherished  riways  and  to  be  protected  at  any 
cost  or  any  risk.  This  house  is  no  better  than  the 
women  in  it,  nor  is  any  home,  nor  is  any  nation. 
Lawless,  American  men  may  be,  but  not  so  the  women ; 
and  in  them  we  reverence  the  law.  When  the  women 
go,  the  nation  goes.  They  are  the  salvation  of  this 
nation — the  stronghold  of  its  purity.  In  the  commer- 
cialization and  the  corruption  of  a  people  the  women 
are  the  last  to  go.  In  the  South  we  have  taken  care 
of  them  always.  I'm  not  preaching.  I  only  say,  it 
was  our  Miss  Lady  who,  by  the  Providence  of  God, 
acted  here  as  the  spirit  of  all  that  means  progress,  all 
that  means  development  and  civilization. 

"Cal,  you  think  I'm  a  visionary,  that  I'm  a  dream- 
er. Perhaps  I  am.  But  I  think  on  my  honor  that  the 


332  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

angel  of  our  salvation  here  was  one  girl  who  had  no 
conception  of  the  part  she  played.  I  have  told  you, 
she  is  our  Miss  Lady.  There 's  nothing  in  this  for  me 
personally,  but  at  least  you  and  I  can  take  off  our 
hats  to  her.  Maybe  sometime  the  picture  will  blur 
and  merge,  so  that,  for  us  two  old  fellows,  Miss  Lady 
will  just  mean  Woman.  I  reckon  all  of  us  old  fellows, 
and  all  the  young  ones,  can  take  care  of  Her. '  * 

The  two  sat  looking  at  each  other  a  moment.  Ere 
their  silence  was  broken  there  came  the  sound  of  a 
quick  step  down  the  hall,  and  a  light  tap  at  the  door. 
There  appeared,  framed  in  the  doorway,  the  figure 
of  Miss  Lady  herself;  but  not  Miss  Lady  the  dancer 
of  New  Orleans,  nor  yet  Miss  Lady  as  recently  garbed 
for  her  voyage  through  the  wilderness.  In  her  rum- 
maging about  the  once  familiar  recesses  of  the  Big 
House,  she  had  come  across  a  simple  gown  of  lawn, 
which  she  had  worn  long  ago,  when  scarce  more  than 
a  child.  Now,  albeit  rounder,  firmer  and  fuller  of 
figure  than  when  she  had  departed  in  search  of  that 
bigger  world  beyond  the  rim  of  the  hedging  forest, 
it  was  the  same  Miss  Lady  of  the  Big  House  once 
more.  She  had  come  back  to  her  old  friends,  and  to 
a  world  which  now  seemed  strangely  sweet  and 
strangely  dear.  Her  sleeves  were  rolled  up ;  her  hair 


CERTAIN  MOTIVES  333 

was  tumbled  about  her  brow,  and  her  eyes  were 
dancing  with  new  merriment. 

"Please,  gentlemen/'  said  she,  with  a  dainty  court- 
esy, ' '  and  would  you  come  out  to  dinner  ?  You  really 
should  see  what  Madame  Delchasse  has  done  with  her 
new  sauce-pan." 

Blount  and  Eddring  both  arose;  there  was  gravity 
in  the  gaze  of  either,  though  the  heart  of  either  might 
have  leaped. 

"So  it  is  you,  child,"  said  Colonel  Blount;  "it  is 
you  again!  Just  as  you  went.  You're  Miss  Lady, 
come  back  to  us  again."  Impulsively  forgetting 
everything  but  the  one  thought,  he  sprang  to  her  and 
flung  his  arm  about  her  shoulders.  And  Miss  Lady 
could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  shrink  from  such  a 
welcome. 

"Oh,  I'm  glad  to  see  you — glad  to  see  you,"  re- 
peated Calvin  Blount.  "Mr.  Eddring,  here,  was  just 
saying  how  good  it  is  to  have  you  back  again." 

Mute,  she  turned  her  eyes  toward  Eddring.  The 
short  upper  lip  trembled ;  in  her  eyes  there  was  more 
than  half  a  suspicion  of  moisture. 

"Yes,  we  are  very  glad,"  said  John  Eddring, 
simply.  With  no  word  she  put  out  her  hand  to  each, 
and  drew  them  out  into  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  NEW  SHERIFF 

As  Eddring  and  Blount  sat  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion after  dinner  that  same  evening,  they  were  inter- 
rupted by  a  sudden  disturbance  in  the  hall.  "Stan' 
aside,  you-all,"  cried  a  pompous  voice.  "You  wanteh 
hindeh  a  officah  o'  de  law?" 

Hurrying  footfalls  followed,  and  presently  the  face 
of  old  Bill,  Colonel  Blount 's  faithful  bear-hunter, 
appeared  at  the  door.  "Hit's  dat  fool  new  sheriff, 
Mas'  Gunnel,"  he  explained,  "Mose  Taylor.  Why, 
he  says  he  got  a  wah'nt  fo'  you.  I  tol'  him  like 
enough  you  was  busy." 

"Let  him  come  in,  Bill,  let  him  come  right  along 
in,"  said  Calvin  Blount,  suavely.  "Mose  Taylor,  eh? 
That's  our  new  sheriff,"  said  he  to  Eddring.  "He's 
our  joke.  Hell  of  a  joke,  ain't  it?" 

Presently  there  came  to  the  door  the  form  of  the 
new  sheriff,  large,  portly  and  pompous.  Taylor  was 
a  mulatto  who  long  had  entertained  political  ambi- 
tions. The  realization  of  one  of  his  ambitions  seemed 
for  this  present  moment  to  give  him  no  especial  happi- 

334 


THE  NEW  SHERIFF  335 

ness.  On  his  face  stood  beads  of  sudden  perspiration. 
His  office  had  never  before  seemed  to  him  quite  so 
serious  as  it  did  at  this  moment.  At  his  waist  he 
wore  a  belt  supporting  a  pair  of  heavy  revolvers  with 
highly  ornamented  handles — a  present  from  certain 
admirers  to  one  who  was  looked  upon  as  fit  to  do  much 
for  the  elevation  of  his  race.  The  new  sheriff  did  not 
at  that  moment  seem  to  think  of  these  revolvers.  As 
Mose  Taylor  entered  the  door  he  cast  his  glance  back- 
ward, over  his  shoulder.  It  did  not  encourage  him  to 
see  his  cowardly  posse  of  black  followers  gathered  in 
a  huddle  at  the  edge  of  the  overflowed,  lawn,  beside 
their  boat.  They  were  waiting  to  see  what  would  hap- 
pen to  their  leader;  and  their  leader  now  heartily 
wished  that  he  had  remained  with  them. 

"Come  on  in,  Mose,"  said  Blount,  with  honey-like 
sweetness.  "Come  in  and  take  a  chair."  The  man 
sidled  in.  "Sit  down,"  said  Blount,  "sit  down!  Sit 
down  on  it  good;  that  chair  ain't  hot;"  and  the  sher- 
iff suddenly  obeyed.  "I  always  like  to  see  the  sheriff 
of  Tullahoma  County  feeling  easy-like  in  my  house. 
Now,  tell  me,  damn  you,  what  you  want  around 
here?" 

"Gunnel  Blount,  sah — well,  I  got  a  papah,  a  wah'nt 
from  co'te,  f-fo'  you,  sah.  I — I — I — didn't  think  you 
was  quite  so  well,  sah." 


336  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"Uh-huh!  So  that's  why  you  came,  eh?  I  reckon 
you'd  be  mighty  glad  if  I  was  a  heap  sicker,  wouldn't 
you?" 

"I  dunno,  sah." 

"What's  your  warrant  for,  Mose?"  said  Calvin 
Blount,  still  quietly.  "Stealing  hogs  this  time,  or 
killing  somebody's  cows,  maybe?  Out  with  it.  Now, 
damn  you,  can't  you  read  your  own  warrant?" 

"Well,  sah,  you-all  know  there  wuz  some  killin' — 
my  wah'nt — " 

"Yes,  we-all  do  know  there  was  some  killing,  a 
little  of  it,  the  beginning  of  it,  a  part  of  it.  Now,  tell 
me,  have  you  the  nerve— are  you  fool  enough  to  come 
down  here  and  try  to  arrest  any  of  us  white  gentle- 
men for  what  we  did  a  few  days  ago  ?  Now  talk.  Tell 
me ! "  Blount 's  face  took  on  its  red  fighting-hue. 

"Wait!"  cried  Eddring,  speaking  to  Blount,  "this 
is  an  officer  of  the  law.  This  is  the  law. ' '  He  rose  and 
stepped  between  the  two,  even  as  the  sheriff  fumbled 
in  his  pocket  for  the  paper  which  had  lately  been  the 
bolster  of  his  courage,  the  warrant  which  in  grim  jest 
had  been  issued  by  the  court  of  that  county  to  its 
duly  instituted  executive  officer. 

Blount 's  face  was  an  evil  thing  to  see.  At  a  grasp 
he  caught  from  a  belt  which  hung  at  the  head  board  of 
the  bed  a  well-worn  revolver,  whitened  where  long 


THE  NEW  SHERIFF  337 

friction  on  the  scabbard  had  worn  away  the  bluing. 
"Out  of  the  way,  Eddring,"  he  cried.  "Get  your 
head  out  of  the  way,  man !"  His  pistol  sight  followed 
steadily  here  and  there,  searching  for  a  clean  opening 
at  its  victim,  now  partly  protected  by  Eddring  as 
the  latter  sprang  between  them.  Blount  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  bed,  his  crippled  arm  fast  at  his  side,  his 
unshaven  face  aflame,  his  red  eye  burning  in  an  un- 
speakable rage  as  it  shone  down  the  pistol-barrel, 
grimly  hunting  for  a  vital  spot  on  the  body  of  the 
man  beyond  him. 

"Get  out,  quick,"  cried  Eddring,  and  pushed  the 
man  through  the  door.  He  sprang  to  Blount  and 
pushed  him  in  turn  back  upon  the  bed. 

"It's  the  law!"  he  reiterated. 

' '  The  law  be  damned ! ' '  cried  Calvin  Blount.  ' '  Let 
me  up !  Let  me  at  him !  Him — to  come  around  here 
to  arrest  me— that  damned  nigger!  You,  Bill!"  he 
called  out,  raising  his  voice.  "Throw  him  off  my 
place.  Kill  him!"  He  struggled  furiously  with  Ed- 
dring in  his  effort  to  gain  the  door. 

The  new  sheriff  of  Tullahoma  County  was  ashen  in 
color  when  he  emerged  into  the  hall ;  and  then  it  was 
only  to  look  into  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle,  held  steadily 
by  old  Bill.  There  ambled  up  to  Bill's  side,  also, 
Jack,  and  between  them  they  laid  hold  of  the  sheriff 


338  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

of  the  county  and  pushed  him  out  of  the  house  and 
across  the  lawn,  administering  meanwhile  to  his  body 
repeated  deliberate  and  energetic  kicks,  and  thus  en- 
thusiastically propelling  him  into  the  very  presence 
of  his  waiting  posse,  who  raised  never  a  hand  to  resent 
these  indignities  to  one  who  had  been  their  chosen 
representative  for  the  advancement  of  their  race. 

"I'll  see  'bout  dis  yer,  I  will!"  cried  the  sheriff, 
as  at  last  he  got  clear  and  took  refuge  in  the  boat 
which  lay  waiting  at  the  edge  of  the  lawn.  ' '  I  '11  have 
you-all  up  for  'sistin'  a  officah,  dat's  whut  I  will." 

"'Sistin'aofficah!  Who?  Tow?"  said  Bill.  The 
scorn  in  his  voice  was  infinite.  "Say,  you  low-down 
scoun'rel,  you  say  very  much  mo'  an'  I'll  blow  yoh 
head  off.  You're  on  our  Ian',  does  you  know  dat? 
Now  you  git  off,  right  soon." 

The  officer  of  the  law  retreated  as  far  as  he  could 
into  the  boat.  "You  thought  Gunnel  Blount  was  all 
'lone  in  bed,  too  weak  to  move,  didn't  you?"  re- 
sumed Bill.  "Why,  blame  you,  you  couldn't  'rest 
Colonel  Calvin  Blount,  not  if  he  was  daid!  Go  'long 
dah,  now!" 

Mose  Taylor,  the  grim  jest,  the  sardonic  answer  of 
the  whites  of  Tullahoma  County  to  those  who  deal 
fluently  with  questions  of  which  they  know  but  little, 
was  fain  to  take  Bill's  sincere  advice.  Behind  the 


THE  NEW  SHERIFF  339 

shelter  of  the  first  clump  of  trees,  he  folded  his  arms 
into  a  posture  as  near  resembling  that  of  Napoleon 
as  he  could  assume.  He  frowned  heavily.  "Huh!" 
said  he  savagely,  looking  from  one  to  another  of  the 
crew  who  made  his  ' '  posse. "  ' '  Huh ! "  he  said  again, 
and  yet  again,  ' '  Huh ! "  A  cloud  sat  on  his  soul.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  persons  like  himself,  earnestly  en- 
gaged in  settling  the  race  problem,  ought  not  to  have 
such  difficulties  cast  in  their  way. 

Meantime,  in  the  house,  Eddring  still  confronted 
the  rage  of  Colonel  Blount. 

"You,"  panted  Blount.  "You!  I  thought  you 
were  one  of  us. ' ' 

"I  am,  I  am!"  cried  Eddring.  "I  was  with  you  in 
what  you  did.  I  tried  to  get  to  you.  It  had  to  be 
done.  But  somewhere,  Cal,  we  must  stop.  We've  got 
to  pull  up.  We  can't  fight  lawlessness  with  worse 
lawlessness.  We  must  begin  with  the  law." 

A  bitter  smile  was  his  answer.  "Is  that  sort  of 
sheriff  the  foundation  that  you  lay?"  said  Calvin 
Blount,  panting,  as  at  length  he  threw  his  six-shooter 
upon  the  bed.  "Let  me  tell  you,  then,  the  law  is  never 
going  to  stand.  That 's  no  law  for  the  Delta. ' ' 

Eddring  sunk  his  face  between  his  hands.  "Cal," 
he  said,  "we've  got  to  begin.  This  country  is  being 
ruined,  and  perhaps  it  is  partly  our  own  fault.  Now, 


340  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

I  am  guilty  as  you  are;  but  I  say,  we  have  got  to 
give  ourselves  up  to  the  law." 

"Give  myself  up?  Why,  of  course  I  will.  I  was 
going  up  directly,  soon  as  I  got  well,  to  talk  it  over 
with  the  judge,  and  arrange  for  a  trial.  All  this  has 
got  to  be  squared  up  legally,  of  course.  But  that's  a 
heap  different  from  sending  a  nigger  sheriff  down  here 
to  arrest  Cal  Blount  in  his  own  house.  Why,  I'm  one 
of  the  oldest  citizens  in  these  here  bottoms.  I've 
carried  my  end  of  the  log  for  fifty  years,  with  black 
and  white.  Why,  if  I  should  go  in  with  that  fellow, 
where 'd  be  my  reputation?  I'd  have  a  heap  of  show 
of  living  down  here  after  that,  wouldn't  I?  Why, 
my  neighbors 'd  kill  me,  and  do  me  a  kindness  at 
that." 

"But  we  must  begin,"  said  Eddring,  insistently, 
once  more.  "There  must  be  some  law.  We'll  go  in 
and  surrender.  I'll  take  your  case." 

"You  mean  you'll  be  my  lawyer  at  the  trial?" 

"Yes,  I'll  defend  you.  But  as  for  you  and  me, 
we're  for  the  state,  after  all.  We've  got  to  prosecute 
this  entire  system  which  prevails  down  here  to-day. 
We're  growing  more  and  more  lawless  all  over  the 
South,  all  over  America.  Now,  we  don't  want  that. 
We  don't  believe  in  it.  Then  what  can  we  dof  How 


THE  NEW  SHERIFF  341 

can  we  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  thing?  Cal,  I  reckon 
you  and  I  are  brave  enough  to  begin." 

Even  as  they  were  speaking,  they  heard  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  Miss  Lady  once  more  stood  looking  in 
hesitatingly  upon  these  stern-faced  men.  Upon  her 
own  face  there  was  horror,  terror. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do !"  she  cried,  her  hands  at 
her  temples.  "I  don't  know  where  to  go.  You  tell 
me  this  is  my  home,  and  I  have  nowhere  else  to  go, 
but  this  is  a  terrible  place.  Why,  I  have  just  heard 
about  what  happened— about  Delphine  and  those 
others.  Why,  sir," — this  to  Eddring, — "you  knew  it 
all  the  time.  You  saw.  You  knew ! ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Eddring,  "that  is  why  I  would  not 
let  you  walk  down  that  little  path  on  the  island.  I 
didn't  want  you  to  know — we  didn't  want  you  ever 
to  know." 

"Yes,  Miss  Lady,"  affirmed  Blount,  "we  knew. 
We  didn't  want  you  to  know." 

"But  is  there  no  law?"  she  cried.  "Why  do  you 
do  these  things?  The  punishment  is  for  the  officers, 
for  the  courts,  and  not  for  you.  Why,  how  can  I  look 
at  you  without  shivering?" 

"What  shall  we  do,  Miss  Lady?"  asked  Blount, 
coldly.  "What's  the  right  thing  to  do?  Listen. 
We've  done  this  thing  for  you.  You're  a  white  girl. 


342  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

The  white  women  of  this  country — if  we  didn't  do 
these  things,  what  chance  would  you  and  your  like 
have  in  this  country?  Now,  we've  done  it  for  you, 
and  we'll  finish  the  way  you  say.  You're  to  decide. 
Shall  we  go  in  and  surrender  ?  Shall  we  be  tried  ?  Re- 
member, it  is  our  own  lives  at  stake,  then." 

"We  will  go  in,  and  we  will  meet  our  trial,"  said 
John  Eddring,  rising  and  interrupting,  even  as  Miss 
Lady  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  "We  will  begin 
right  here." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

One  morning  in  the  early  fall,  the  little  town  of 
Clarksville,  county-seat  of  Tullahoma  County,  was 
thronged  with  people  from  all  the  country  round 
about.  There  was  in  progress  the  trial  of  certain 
white  citizens  under  indictment  for  murder,  among 
these  some  of  the  most  respected  men  of  that  region. 
The  case  of  Colonel  Calvin  Blount  had  been  chosen 
as  the  first  of  many. 

The  court-room  in  the  square  brick  court  house  was 
packed  with  masses  of  silent  men.  The  halls  were 
crowded.  The  yard  of  the  court  house  was  full,  and 
the  streets  were  alive  with  grim-faced  men.  The 
hitching  racks  were  lined  with  saddle  horses,  and 
other  horses  and  countless  mules  were  hitched  to 
fences  and  trees  even  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the 
town.  The  hotels  had  long  since  abandoned  system, 
and  every  dwelling  house  was  open  and  full  to  over- 
flowing. 

Outside  of  the  town,  or  mingling  in  the  fringes  of 
343 


344  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

the  crowd  at  its  edges,  there  huddled  even  greater 
numbers  of  those  of  the  colored  race.  Some  of  these 
were  armed.  The  white  men  in  the  streets  were 
armed.  None  showed  hurry  or  agitation;  none 
shouted  or  gesticulated ;  yet  the  clerk  of  the  court  had 
a  pistol  in  his  pocket;  each  juryman  was  likewise 
equipped;  the  judge  on  the  bench  knew  there  was  a 
pistol  in  the  drawer  of  the  desk  before  him.  This 
gathering  of  the  people  was  thoughtfully  prepared. 
It  was  a  crisis,  and  was  so  recognized. 

The  silent  audience  was  packed  close  up  to  the  rail 
back  of  which  was  stationed  the  judge's  stand  and 
jury-box.  Within  the  railing  there  was  scanty  room ; 
every  member  of  the  local  bar  was  there,  and  many 
lawyers  from  counties  round  about. 

Erect  in  the  grave-faced  assemblage,  there  stood 
one  man,  pale  of  face  but  with  burning  eyes.  It  was 
John  Eddring,  attorney  for  the  defense  in  the  case 
of  the  state  against  Calvin  Blount,  charged  with 
murder.  His  voice,  clean-cut,  eager,  incisive,  reached 
every  corner  of  the  room.  His  gestures  were  few  and 
downright.  He  was  swept  forward  by  his  own  con- 
victions of  the  truth. 

Eddring  was  approaching  the  conclusion  of  the 
argument  which  he  had  begun  the  previous  day.  The 
testimony  in  these  cases,  known  generally  as  the 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  345 

"lynching  cases,"  had  long  been  in  and  had  passed 
through  examination,  cross-examination,  rebuttal  and 
surrebuttal. 

Eddring  knew  that  he  would  be  followed  by  an  able 
man,  a  district  attorney  conscientious  in  the  discharge 
of  his  duty,  however  unpleasant  it  might  be.  He  had 
therefore  with  the  greatest  care  analyzed  the  evidence 
of  the  state  as  offered,  and  had  demonstrated  the  tech- 
nical impossibility  of  a  conviction.  Yet  this,  he  knew, 
would  not  upon  this  occasion  suffice.  He  went  on 
toward  the  heart  of  the  real  case  which  he  felt  was 
then  on  trial  before  this  jury  of  the  people. 

"Your  Honor  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  con- 
tinued, "we  all  know  that  we  are,  in  effect,  trying  to- 
day not  one  man,  not  one  district,  not  one  state,  but 
an  entire  system.  "We  are  trying  the  South.  The  life 
and  the  liberty  of  the  South  are  at  stake.  To  prove 
this,  these  men  have  come  in  and  given  themselves  up 
as  an  atonement,  as  a  blood  offering  like  to  that  of  old ; 
seeking  to  prove  that  what  they  continually  have 
coveted  is  not  lawlessness,  but  the  law. 

"Now  I  say  this,  and  I  say,  also,  let  each  of  us  have 
a  care  lest  he  lose  touch  with  the  eternal  pillar  of  the 
truth.  There  it  is.  It  rises  before  you,  gentlemen, 
that  silent,  somber  shaft.  It  finds  its  summit  in  the  sky. 
I  pray  God  to  keep  my  own  hand  in  touch  thereto, 


346  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

and  my  eyes  turned  not  aside.  And  my  life,  with  that 
of  these  others,  is  offered  freely  in  proof  that  we  covet 
not  lawlessness,  but  the  law !  We  are  white  men,  and 
where  the  white  man  has  gone,  there  has  he  builded 
ever,  first  of  all,  his  temple  of  the  law.  Upon  what- 
ever land  the  Anglo-Saxon  sets  his  foot,  of  that  land 
he  is  the  master,  or  there  he  finds  his  grave.  First  he 
lays  his  hearthstone,  and  upon  that  foundation  he 
builds  his  temple  of  the  law.  A  race  which  has  no 
hearthstone  knows  no  law. 

"Inasmuch  as  God  has  made  all  manner  of  things 
diverse,  setting  no  fence  even  between  species  and 
species,  creating  all  blades  of  grass  alike,  yet  not  one 
the  duplicate  of  another ;  then  neither  should  we,  be- 
ing human,  essay  a  wisdom  greater  than  that  of  the 
eternal  compromise  of  life.  No  human  document,  no 
sum  of  human  wisdom,  not  even  the  Deity  of  all  life 
can  or  does  guarantee  a  success  which  means  individ- 
ual equality  in  the  result  of  effort.  The  chance,  the 
opportunity — that  is  the  law,  and  that  is  all  the  law. 
Beyond  that  did  not  go  the  intent  of  that  Divinity 
which  decreed  the  scheme  under  which  this  earth 
must  endure.  To  war  and  conflict  each  creature  is 
foreordained,  for  so  runs  the  decree  of  life.  But 
never,  in  the  divine  wisdom,  was  it  established  that 
the  mouth  of  the  stream  should  be  its  source ;  that  in- 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  347 

equality  should  be  equality;  that  failure  should  be 
success;  that  unfitness  should  mean  survival. 

"In  reading  the  pages  of  the  great  and  beloved 
Constitution  of  America  there  have  been  those  who 
have  juggled  the  import  of  the  word  'success'  with  the 
meaning  of  the  chance  to  succeed. 

"There  was  such  juggling  in  those  war  amendments 
to  that  Constitution,  which  to-day  represent  the  folly 
of  a  part  of  America— not  of  all  of  America.  Those 
amendments,  if  they  be  not  of  themselves  war  meas- 
ures, were  at  least  consequences  of  war  measures.  This 
Constitution  which  we  call  supreme  can,  of  itself,  be 
amended— can,  indeed,  itself  be  set  aside  by  its  own 
servants,  as  was  proved  in  that  very  war  whose  mem- 
ory is  still  in  our  minds.  The  Supreme  Court,  in  the 
Legal  Tender  case,  admittedly  set  aside  the  Constitu- 
tion. It  did  so  of  necessity,  and  as  a  measure  de- 
manded by  the  times  of  war.  The  supreme  letter  of 
the  law  has  not  always  been  respected  by  this  people, 
nor  by  its  wisest  men,  by  its  most  august  servants. 

"It  is  not  the  law,  gentlemen,  vainly  to  call  two 
blades  of  grass  identical,  vainly  to  call  the  hare  and 
tiger  alike  and  equal ;  vainly  to  call,  if  you  like,  black 
the  same  as  white.  The  law  is  that  if  it  be  possible  for 
the  hare  to  approach  its  neighbor  in  ways  desirable, 
it  be  given  its  chance  to  do  so.  If  the  black  man  can 


348  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

grow  like  to  the  white  in  all  human  attainments,  if 
he  can  grow  and  succeed,  then  let  him  have  the  chance 
to  do  so. 

"But  that  same  chance  of  betterment  and  advance- 
ment, that  same  selfish  chance  to  prevail  and  to  survive, 
that  chance  to  succeed  given  under  the  divine  intent, 
must  be  accorded  also  to  that  creature  known  as  the 
white  man.  If  he,  the  white  man,  can  prevail,  can 
survive,  can  succeed,  he,  too,  must  have  his  chance. 
That  is  the  law!  But  the  chance  of  either  white  or 
black  man  is  his  own  and  is  not  negotiable.  That  is 
the  law!  Not  without  fitness  can  there  be  ultimate 
success.  Not  until  the  fullness  of  the  years  can  there 
be  attainment  for  any  creature  of  this  earth.  That  is 
the  law !  There  is  no  tree  growing  in  the  center  of  this 
ordained  universe  wherefrom  the  full  fruit  of  survi- 
val and  of  success  may  be  plucked  and  eaten  without 
effort  and  without  earning.  No  individual  has  done 
it.  No  one  can  do  it.  Bounty  and  gift  do  not  make 
success.  It  must  be  won! 

' '  Is  this  doctrine  difficult  ?  If  so,  we  can  not  change 
it.  It  is  the  great  law,  irrevocable  and  unamendable, 
and  it  is  no  more  kind  and  no  more  cruel  than  life 
itself  is  kind  or  cruel.  It  is  the  law.  That  is  the  law ! 

"The  makers  of  the  Constitution,  the  amenders  of 
the  Constitution— that  document  subject  to  change, 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  349 

subject  to  being  ignored,  as  has  been  the  case— could 
never,  under  the  enduring  law,  guarantee  success 
plucked  as  an  apple  for  each  and  every  man  who  had 
not  earned  it.  Gentlemen,  talk  not  to  me  of  the  broad 
charity  of  this  nation,  or  of  its  general  justice  to  hu- 
manity. Call  not  this  piece-work  Constitution  of 
ours,  amended  and  subject  to  amendment,  an  ap- 
proach to  divine  charity  or  wisdom.  No ;  for  in  some 
of  its  effects  it  has  proved  to  be  the  most  cruel  and 
unjust  measure  ever  known  in  all  human  laws. 

"It  was  cruel  and  unjust  to  whom?  To  us?  To  the 
white  man?  No,  no.  It  was  cruel  in  that  it  pre- 
sented a  title  to  success,  to  fitness  and  to  survival  unto 
eager,  ignorant  hands,  and  then  by  its  own  limitations 
snatched  that  title  away  from  them  again.  It  sought 
to  do  that  which  can  not  be  done— to  establish  growth 
instead  of  the  chance  to  grow.  It  was  cruel.  It  was 
unjust.  In  the  wisdom  of  a  later  day  its  patchwork 
form  must  once  more  be  changed.  It  must  be  changed 
as  a  protection,  no  more  against  the  former  slaves  of 
the  South  than  against  the  future  slaves  of  the  North. 

"Gentlemen,  if  that  change  could  be  effected  to-mor- 
row by  the  offering  up  of  this  life— of  these  lives  now 
in  your  hands— I  say  these  lives  would  be  laid  down 
gladly.  Take  them  if  you  will.  They  are  our  pledge 
that  we  covet  not  lawlessness,  but  the  law ;  our  pledge 


350 

that,  having  no  law,  we  have  been  eager  to  act  law- 
fully as  we  might.  The  reign  of  lawlessness  and 
terror  must  end  in  this  country.  We  must  contrive 
some  machinery  of  the  law  which  shall  command  re- 
spect. We  must  not  continually  drag  the  name  of  the 
South— the  name  of  America— in  the  mire  of  lawless- 
ness. To  do  that  is  to  smirch  the  flag— the  one  flag 
of  America.  But  we  denounce  and  will  always  de- 
nounce that  false  decree  which  says  that  black  is 
white;  that  inequality  is  equality;  that  lack  of  man- 
hood is  manhood  itself ;  that  the  absence  of  a  hearth- 
stone can  mean  a  home ;  that  the  absence  of  the  home 
can  mean  a  permanent  society. 

"In  the  future  the  North,  packed  and  crowded  be- 
yond endurance,  with  imported  and  herded  white 
slaves  who  in  time  will  demand  the  position  of  masters 
— as  the  blacks  may  legally  demand  that  position  here 
to-day — will  pay  her  price  for  the  right  to  make  this 
plea.  The  South  has  already  paid  a  thousand  times 
for  her  right  to  make  it  to-day.  With  treasure  she 
has  paid  for  it;  with  roof -tree  and  hearth-tree  she 
has  paid  it  dear,  and  with  the  sacred  tears  of  women. 
With  the  sacrifice  of  her  own  future  she  has  paid  for 
that  right.  But  the  South  and  the  North  belong  to- 
gether, not  held  apart  by  politics,  but  held  together  in 
brotherhood.  In  the  name  of  all  justice,  let  us  hope 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  351 

that  the  South  shall  not  be  asked  to  pay  the  bitterest 
of  all  prices,  the  misunderstanding  and  the  alienation 
of  those  whom  she  loves  and  would  embrace  as  her 
brothers.  Let  us  hope,  in  the  name  of  mercy,  if  not  of 
justice,  that  the  South  shall  be  understood  as  a  region 
having  a  problem,  a  problem  which  is  national,  and 
not  sectional,  and  not  political.  Let  us  in  all  fairness 
hope  that  our  northern  brothers  will  understand  that 
the  South  is  honest  in  her  attempt  to  deal  with  that 
problem  in  her  time,  which  is  the  time  of  to-day. 

"Your  Honor,  I  do  not  depart  from  my  argument. 
I  am  not  here  for  wild  talk  regarding  the  relations  of 
the  two  races.  It  is  the  ages  alone  which  will  decide 
that  problem.  But  I  am  here  to  stand  for  the  law 
and  not  for  lawlessness.  I  am  here  to  say  that  our 
flag,  the  American  flag,  is  for  all  men,  and  for  Amer- 
ica ;  not  for  Africa  alone,  or  for  Europe  alone,  but  for 
America.  It  is  the  flag  of  progress,  not  the  flag  of 
anarchy.  It  is  the  banner  of  civilization  and  not  of 
savagery.  That,  and  not  the  banner  of  Africa  or  of 
Europe,  must  be  our  ensign  to-day. 

"Your  Honor,  and  gentlemen,  we  are  not  here  to- 
day to  conclude  that  God  set  the  white  man  over  the 
black.  We  are  to  conclude  simply  that  He  set  him 
apart  from  the  black  man.  The  divine  right  of  slavery 
was  an  impiety,  and,  worst  of  all,  an  absurdity.  The 


352  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

South  made  that  mistake,  and  bitter  has  been  the  price 
of  her  folly.  Yet  the  South,  having  sinned,  paid  the 
price  of  her  sinning  in  all  ways  exacted  of  her.  She 
accepted  the  ruling  of  the  North,  and,  as  a  distin- 
guished orator  once  said,  surrendered  'bravely  and 
frankly.'  But  she  did  not  admit,  and  please  God, 
never  will  admit,  that  those  fresh  from  savagery 
should  govern  the  white  men,  that  they  should  insti- 
tute the  machinery  of  the  law  whereunder  the  white 
man  must  live. 

' '  Gentlemen,  you  see  before  you,  sardonically  done, 
the  fruits  of  the  Black  Justice.  Is  that  the  Law  ?  If  it 
be,  then  send  us  to  our  graves ;  for  as  that  Black  Jus- 
tice formally  exists  to-day,  Calvin  Blount,  and  I,  and 
these  others,  must  go  back  to  our  fields  or  to  our 
graves.  Do  you  wish  to  send  us  to  the  latter?  If 
you  do,  you  send  these  other  white  men  just  as  law- 
fully back  to  take  up  the  hoe  of  labor,  to  bend  their 
necks  under  the  black  yoke  of  African  ignorance  and 
savagery.  Is  that  the  Law  ?  In  my  heart,  gentlemen, 
I  believe  that  those  who  say  this  is  the  law  have  not 
read  the  history  of  this  country,  do  not  understand 
the  theory  of  this  country,  and  can  not  speak  for 
it  unselfishly  or  honestly. 

"Yet,  gentlemen,  that  is  the  dilemma  into  which 
our  brothers  of  the  North  would  continually  thrust 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  353 

us.  Suppose  that,  casting  about  for  some  possible 
measure  to  free  us  from  one  point  or  the  other  of  that 
dilemma,  we  should  seek  some  legal  compromise  which 
would  free  us  from  the  letter  of  this  oppressive  law 
of  our  national  Constitution.  Suppose  there  should 
be  proposed  some  general  and  stern  limitation  of  the 
franchise?  Such  an  onerous  qualification  must  needs 
apply  to  black  and  white  alike.  Who  would  be  first 
to  object  to  it?  It  would  be  the  politicians  of  the 
North,  who  could  not  afford  to  exact  even  a  prepaid 
poll-tax  as  a  test  for  a  vote.  In  time  the  North  will 
need  to  free  her  white  slaves,  already  turbulent  and 
rebellious.  In  time  she  will  have  to  pay  for  them,  as 
we  of  the  South  have  paid.  After  that  great  civil 
war  which  is  yet  to  come,  the  men  of  the  North 
may  perhaps  understand  more  fully  the  meaning  of 
that  phrase  'the  manhood  suffrage'  and  know  that 
manhood  means  survival,  that  good  manhood  means 
the  product  of  a  good  environment,  a  survival  slowly 
and  fitly  won.  By  that  time,  North  and  South,  per- 
haps, will  know  that  the  franchise  should  be  as  the 
bulwark  of  the  law,  not  the  destroyer  of  the  law.  Until 
that  time,  we  of  the  South  must  continue  to  pay  our 
part  of  the  price  of  the  national  lawlessness;  and  we 
must  continue,  each  commonwealth  for  itself  as  best 
it  may,  to  enact  laws  which  shall  in  part  lessen  the 


354  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

intolerable  weight  of  that  which  we  have  set  up  as  the 
idol  of  our  national  laws — that  Constitution,  which 
is  impossible  and  not  practicable,  which  is  merciless 
instead  of  just,  which  is  cruel  instead  of  being  kind, 
and  most  cruel  to  those  whom  it  is  thought  to  shelter. 
Meantime  the  South  feels  still  the  intolerable  weight  of 
that  Constitution,  the  intolerable  sting  of  the  demand 
of  her  northern  brothers,  that  she  shall  be  asked  to 
endure,  in  the  name  of  this  incubus,  this  body  of  the 
law,  the  continuous  burglarizing  of  her  honor  and 
her  prosperity — the  burglarizing  of  the  house  of  her 
society. 

"We  know  that  it  is  the  chief est  of  cruelty  and  un- 
kindness,  the  chiefest  of  madness,  to  incite  these  poor 
and  ignorant  people — ever  ready  to  follow  the  voice 
of  sophistry  or  selfishness — to  believe  that  their  burg- 
lary of  the  house  of  success  is  right  and  reasonable; 
because  it  is  certain  that  such  burglary  will  be  met  in 
the  South  by  the  law,  by  the  White  Justice,  and  that, 
if  need  be,  until  either  white  or  black  man  shall  exist 
no  more  in  this  portion  of  America.  Gentlemen, 
North  and  South  owe  it  to  America,  America  owes  it 
to  the  world,  that  there  be  held  aloft  for  our  worship 
an  image  of  the  Law  more  honorable  than  this.  Until 
that  time  of  a  more  honorable  image  for  our  worship, 
there  must  perhaps  go  on  the  enormous  folly  of  one 


TITE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  355 

portion  of  this  nation  asking  another  portion  to  de- 
stroy itself  for  the  sake  of  an  unworthy  race.  This 
demand,  gentlemen,  I  take  to  be  an  actual  treason  to 
the  law  and  to  this  country. 

"The  white  man  has  won  his  rights — why?  Be- 
cause he  was  able  to  do  so.  He  accords  to  any  other 
race  the  same  privilege.  That  is  the  law  of  survival ; 
it  is  greater  than  any  law  of  politics,  greater  than 
any  statute  law. 

"But,  your  Honor,  these  men  can  not  be  acquitted 
under  any  plea  dealing  with  generalizations  alone. 
The  law  of  the  land  must  be  observed  in  so  far  as  that 
law  exists. 

"Now  I  ask  whether  at  the  time  of  the  acts  charged 
against  Calvin  Blount  there  existed  any  adequate 
machinery  of  the  law.  I  have  pointed  out  to  you 
the  precedent  of  the  great  case  handled  by  Mr. 
Webster  in  the  city  of  New  York,  in  which  case  the 
statutes  were  set  aside  by  the  greater  law  of  an  imme- 
diate and  overpowering  necessity.  I  submit  to  you 
that  necessity,  the  greatest  of  all  laws,  and  in  prece- 
dent respected  by  our  courts  as  such,  would  have  over- 
ridden even  the  regular  machinery  of  our  laws  had  it 
been  in  operation.  I  submit  further  to  you  that  no 
law  existed  in  this  country  at  that  time ;  that  the  ser- 
vice of  the  law  to  its  citizens  had  ceased.  If  the  great- 


356  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

est  court  of  the  country  still  tolerates  the  burglary  of 
the  house  of  society  by  this  so-called  manhood  suffrage, 
which  should  rather  be  called  the  per  capita  suf- 
frage, then  at  least  the  lesser  courts,  wiser  than  the 
greater,  recognize  the  fact  that  some  crimes  require 
no  warrant  for  arrest;  that  sometimes  the  citizen  is 
court  and  executive  in  one  and  at  once. 

"As  the  greatest  authorities  of  the  law  have  writ- 
ten, in  the  organization  of  society  the  individual  never 
surrenders  all  of  his  rights.  He  retains  for  ever  and 
inalienably,  after  all  his  delegations  to  society  and 
the  law,  a  residuum  of  power  for  his  own.  He  re- 
tains under  the  great  and  supreme  law  of  all  life,  that 
sweet,  that  divine  privilege,  his  chance  to  succeed,  his 
chance  to  survive!  No  tyranny,  no  oppression,  can 
overcome  that  sweetest  and  strongest  of  all  the  Anglo- 
Saxon 's  coveted  rights.  Instead,  he  has  ever  risen 
against  the  law,  when  that  law  has  demanded  of  him 
this  last,  this  ultimate  and  inalienable  right,  this  prin- 
ciple under  which  he  has  builded  the  civilization  of 
the  world. 

' '  In  defiance  of  statute  laws  grown  weak  and  impo- 
tent, the  barons  at  Runnymede  wrested  Magna  Charta 
from  King  John;  in  defiance  of  statute  laws  grown 
weak  and  impotent,  the  free  men  of  England  wrested 
their  Habeas  Corpus  Act  from  King  Charles;  in  de- 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  357 

fiance  of  statute  laws  grown  weak  and  impotent,  the 
colonists  of  America  wrested  a  virgin  empire  from 
King  George. 

"And,  please  God,  in  defiance  of  statute  laws 
grown  weak  and  impotent,  the  white  man  will  wrest 
from  whatsoever  hand  may  hold  it,  the  right  to  pro- 
tect the  integrity  of  his  race,  the  safety  of  his  women, 
the  sanctity  of  his  two-fold  temple  of  the  law ! 

"I  therefore  submit  to  you  that  a  sacred  exigency 
demanded  the  action  of  this  prisoner,  of  these  prison- 
ers ;  and  I  submit  that  this  prisoner  at  the  bar  is  in- 
nocent before  the  law.  But  beyond  that  I  add  my 
plea,  with  that  of  this  honorable  court,  and  of  these 
gentlemen,  that  one  day  we  may  have  given  to  us  an 
image  of  the  Law  which  we  may  venerate  in  letter 
and  in  spirit,  and  a  law  capable  of  its  own  enforce- 
ment. 

"As  I  stand  before  you,  gentlemen,  this  prisoner, 
this  cause,  its  feeble  advocate,  seem  small  and  incon- 
siderable. But  at  my  side  I  see  arising  the  eternal 
pillars  of  the  temple  of  the  White  Justice.  Do  you 
not  see  them,  rising  solemn  and  stately  before  you, 
those  pillars,  their  heads  taking  hold  upon  the  heav- 
ens ?  If  that  temple  has  been  defiled,  if  it  has  been 
cast  down,  then  let  us  hope  that  South  and  North  will 
restore  it  again  in  its  full  majesty.  And  when,  finally, 


358  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

aided,  as  we  hope,  by  our  brothers  of  the  North,  we, 
as  citizens  of  an  ofttimes  mistaken,  yet  eventually  to 
be  united  America,  shall  have  builded  this  renewed 
temple  of  the  law,  then  the  lives  of  the  white  men  of 
this  state  will  be — like  ours  joined  in  this  trial  before 
you — free  pledge  that  the  men  of  this  country,  so  long 
charged  with  lawlessness,  shall  come  and  bow  in  that 
temple  in  reverence  of  that  law  which  they  have  al- 
ways coveted  and  which  they  covet  here  to-day.  Your 
Honor,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  in  the  face  of  that 
statement,  I  say  that  not  Calvin  Blount — nor  any  one 
of  these  prisoners — has  violated  the  law.  And  so  I 
close  with  the  words  of  the  ancient  form  of  pleading : 
Of  this  we  do  indeed  put  ourselves  upon  the  country." 
In  the  silence  which  fell  upon  the  room  as  Eddring 
closed,  the  district  attorney  arose  to  present  the  case 
of  the  state.  He  began  slowly,  gravely,  logically.  He 
presented  the  printed  page  of  the  statutes,  called  at- 
tention to  the  formal  accuracy  of  the  proceedings, 
the  overwhelming  nature  of  the  evidence;  he  ex- 
plained that  without  law,  nothing  remained  but  an- 
archy. He  pointed  out  to  the  jury  that  here  was  the 
law,  plain  and  unmistakable ;  here  were  the  facts,  ob- 
vious and  uncontroverted,  the  convicting  facts.  He 
spoke  of  the  infamy  which  had  been  cast  upon  the 
name  of  the  South  by  reason  of  just  such  deeds  as 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  359 

these.  He  urged  the  necessity  for  an  absolute  and  un- 
yielding observance  of  the  letter  of  the  law,  those 
statutes  from  which  they  dared  not  depart.  They 
were  statutes  which  could  not  be  overswept  by  any 
glittering  speciousness,  or  set  aside  by  fine  spun  the- 
ories as  to  what  might  or  might  not  be  a  more  desir- 
able order  of  affairs.  He  reminded  them  of  their 
oath,  their  sworn  promise  to  enforce  the  law — this 
law,  the  law  of  the  printed  page. 

He  spoke  for  two  hours,  and  he  did  his  duty;  but 
he  addressed  himself  to  men  of  stone,  and  he  knew 
it  even  as  he  spoke.  Not  to  be  moved  by  his  words 
were  these  set  and  solemn  faces.  Concluding  with  a 
passionate  appeal  that  they  should  protect  the  fair 
name  of  their  country  from  the  stigma  of  lawlessness, 
he  resumed  his  seat,  knowing  then  the  verdict  which 
would  follow. 

The  judge,  an  old  man  with  silvery  hair,  turned 
to  the  jury. 

"Retire,  gentlemen,  to  consider  of  your  verdict." 

The  door  to  the  jury-room  closed  behind  them,  and 
left  a  thousand  eyes  fixed  anxiously  upon  it. 

They  had  scarcely  disappeared  when  the  knock  of 
the  foreman  was  heard  at  the  door. 

"Bring  in  the  jury,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  the  judge  or- 
dered. 


360  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

The  foreman  of  the  jury,  an  unknown  man,  tall 
and  stooped,  with  scraggly  hair  and  beard,  handed 
a  folded  paper  to  the  clerk. 

"Mr.  Clerk,  read  the  verdict,"  the  judge  ordered; 
and  the  clerk  read :  "We,  the  jury,  find  the  defendant 
not  guilty." 

The  words  were  received  in  utter  silence. 

Presently  all,  jury  and  bar  and  spectators,  filed 
from  the  court-room,  quietly,  not  with  oaths  or  threats 
of  violence  for  those  others  who  at  the  outskirts  of 
the  town  were  waiting  for  their  answer.  And  they, 
the  waiting  ones^  found  their  answer  in  this  silence, 
and  so  now  slipped  out  into  the  forest.  The  crowds  of 
white  men  in  the  town  also  quietly  melted  away. 

That  night  at  the  hotel  the  judge  and  certain  citi- 
zens were  engaged  in  quiet  conversation. 

' '  I  think, ' '  said  the  judge,  ' '  that  this  young  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Eddring,  belongs  somewhere  in  a  position 
of  trust.  I  believe  that  he  can  be  depended  upon  to 
think,  and  not  merely  to  play  politics  for  the  sake  of 
office  holding.  We  have  had  too  much  politics  in  the 
South,  and  too  much  in  America.  It's  time  now  we 
did  a  little  thinking." 

"You're  right  about  that,  Judge,"  broke  in  the 
voice  of  Calvin  Blount.  "But  it's  just  as  he  says, 


THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND  361 

we've  got  to  begin.  We've  got  to  have  some  kind  of 
law  to  begin  under." 

The  judge  sighed.  "It  is  humiliating  to  have  to 
resort  to  any  sort  of  subterfuge, ' '  said  he.  ' '  Of  course, 
in  law,  the  rule  must  apply  to  black  and  white  alike. 
I  see  that  one  of  our  sister  states  has  passed  a  law 
allowing  no  one  to  vote  who  can  not  read,  or  who  can 
not  write  on  dictation  any  section  of  the  Constitu- 
tion; or  who  has  not  paid  state  and  county  taxes  for 
two  preceding  years.  This  test  is  not  applied  to  any 
one  who  was  entitled  to  vote  in  any  one  of  the  states 
of  the  Union  on  January  first,  1867,  or  at  some  time 
prior  thereto.  It  does  not  apply  to  any  legitimate 
lineal  descendant  of  persons  entitled  to  vote  prior  to 
that  time.  That  is  an  evasion.  Yet,  as  this  young 
gentleman  said,  we  can  not  submit  to  the  burglarizing 
of  the  house  of  our  society.  Until  we  may  legally  re- 
pel, we  must  legally  evade. ' ' 

"Why,  see  here,  men,"  broke  in  Blount,  again, 
"if  you'll  let  me  say  so,  Judge,  there  ain't  no  law 
higher  than  the  law  of  poker.  Now  we've  let  Mr. 
Nigger  into  the  game  with  us;  or,  anyhow,  he's  here, 
and  somebody  gives  him  a  few  chips.  He  don't  buy 
'em  for  himself,  and  he  don't  know  the  value  of  'em. 
His  chips  ought  to  be  good  as  far  as  they  last.  The 
trouble  with  Mr.  Nigger  is,  he's  wanting  to  get  into 


362  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

every  jack-pot  with  less'n  a  pair  of  deuces,  and  want- 
ing to  play  on  the  ground  that  his  white  chips  are  as 
good  as  the  other  fellow's  blue  ones.  Now,  that  ain't 
poker!" 

"It  shorely  ain't,"  said  the  tall  foreman,  wagging 
a  scraggly  beard. 

The  judge  smiled  softly  and  gravely.  "No,"  said 
he.  "There  should  be  justice  to  the  white  man  as 
well  as  the  black.  You  will  notice  the  order  in  which 
I  place  those  terms." 

Calvin  Blount  hitched  his  chair  closer  up  to  the 
table.  "But  now  you  were  saying,  Judge,  that  we 
ought  to  do  something  for  this  young  fellow,  Ed- 
dring.  I  have  known  him  a  long  time,  from  the  time 
he  was  claim  agent  on  the  railroad.  I  want  to  say 
he's  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  not  afraid  of  anything, 
and  he  wants  to  do  what's  right.  I  don't  think  he 
puts  money  ahead  of  everything  else  in  the  world. 
For  my  part,  if  he  was  my  representative  in  the  Legis- 
lature, or  in  Congress  either,  I'd  feel  right  sure  he'd 
represent  me  strictly  according  to  the  legitimate  rules 
of  poker;  and  that's  a  blamed  sight  more  than  a  whole 
lot  of  politicians  are  doing  to-day,  North  or  South. ' ' 

"It  shorely  is!"  again  said  the  foreman,  wagging 
his  scraggly  beard. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MISS  LADY  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE 

The  days  wore  on  not  ungently  at  the  Big  House, 
until  the  mild  southern  winter  had  taken  the  place 
of  mellow  fall,  and  until  presently  all  the  land  was 
again  full  of  the  warm,  sweet  smell  of  spring.  Soft- 
ness and  gentleness  rested  on  all  the  world,  and  upon 
every  side  were  tokens  that  calm  had  come  again  to  a 
land  late  distraught.  Slowly  the  signs  of  wreck  and 
ruin  disappeared  about  the  plantation.  The  track  of 
the  receding  waters  was  covered  with  a  swift  verdure. 
The  cabins,  late  half -submerged  and  deserted,  again 
found,  at  least  in  part,  a  tenantry.  Songs  were  heard 
once  more  as  the  plowmen  resumed  their  labors  in  the 
fields.  Green  and  white  and  pink  colors  appeared, 
and  gracious  odors,  and  kindly  sights  filled  now  all 
the  horizon.  Peace,  and  content,  and  hope  seemed 
now  at  hand  once  more.  The  master  of  the  Big  House 
saw  about  him  his  accustomed  kingdom,  and  once 
more  his  subjects  felt  the  hand  of  a  master,  if  as  firm, 
perhaps  more  kindly  than  ever  before. 

363 


364  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

As  for  Miss  Lady,  she  dropped  back  into  the  life 
of  the  place  as  though  she  had  been  gone  but  for 
a  day.  Care  and  responsibility  sat  upon  the  brow  of 
Madame  Delchasse,  but  Miss  Lady,  not  less  useful  in 
the  household  economy,  went  about  her  employment 
as  if  she  had  never  been  away.  Of  those  who  welcomed 
her  back  to  the  Big  House  there  was  none  more  thank- 
ful and  adoring  than  the  old  bear-dog,  Hec.  At  the 
first  sight  of  his  divinity,  not  forgotten  in  all  these 
long  months,  Hec,  himself  grown  very  old  and  gray, 
well-nigh  wriggled  his  rheumatic  frame  apart,  and 
lifted  up  his  voice  in  a  very  wail  of  thanksgiving. 
From  that  time  on  he  rarely  allowed  Miss  Lady  out 
of  his  sight,  but  pursued  her  about  the  place,  hobbling 
and  whimpering  when  her  feet  grew  too  swift ;  nor  did 
his  homage  know  any  change  save  when  Miss  Lady 
deserted  him  to  bestow  her  attentions  elsewhere, 
whether  upon  little  yellow  chickens,  or  upon  some  of 
the  toddling  puppies  which  filled  the  yard  about  the 
Big  House. 

Of  all  little  helpless  things,  Miss  Lady  could  not 
find  too  many  for  her  attention.  Upon  one  certain 
morning  in  the  spring,  some  time  after  the  late 
trial  at  the  Clarksville  court,  Miss  Lady  was  sitting 
out  on  the  board-pile  beneath  the  evergreen  trees 
in  the  front  yard  of  the  Big  House.  Her  wide  hat, 


MISS  LADY  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE         365 

confined  loosely  by  its  strings,  had  fallen  back  on  her 
shoulders,  so  that  the  sun  and  the  warm  wind  had 
their  way  of  the  brown  hair,  and  the  cheeks  now 
flushed  with  tender  solicitude  for  the  three  puppies 
she  held  in  her  lap.  Yet  other  puppies  scrambled  at 
a  pan  of  milk  close  by  her  feet,  while  at  a  distance 
old  Hec,  too  dignified  to  engage  in  such  procedures, 
lay  in  the  shade  and  gazed  at  her  with  reproachful 
eyes.  Calvin  Blount,  coming  about  the  corner  of  the 
house,  stood  for  a  while  and  gazed  at  this  picture  in 
silence  before  he  approached  and  interrupted. 

"Miss  Lady,"  said  he,  "you  never  did  know  how 
glad  I  am  to  have  you  back  here  again.  Why,  a  while 
ago  I  didn't  care  what  became  of  me,  or  of  anything 
else.  I  wasn't  even  half -training  my  pack  of  dogs. 
Now  I  have  got  more'n  fifty  of  the  best  hounds  that 
ever  run  a  trail,  and  with  you  to  take  care  of  the 
cripples  and  the  puppies,  it  certainly  looks  like  the 
old  pack  is  going  to  last  a  while  yet.  Yes,  you  surely 
are  right  useful  on  the  place." 

"You  are  not  any  gladder  than  I  am,"  said  Miss 
Lady.  "I've  every  reason  in  the  world  to  be  glad." 

"Well,"  said  Blount,  seating  himself  apart  on  the 
end  of  the  board-pile,  "I've  got  a  few,  myself.  This 
here  is  a  heap  better  than  being  in  jail,  or  maybe  get- 
ting hung." 


366  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"Don't  talk  about  it,"  said  Miss  Lady,  shuddering. 
"I  don't  want  to  think—" 

"Well,  it  was  Jack  Eddring  got  us  out  of  it  all,  I 
reckon,"  said  Blount,  breaking  off  a  splinter  from 
the  board.  "Did  you  ever  stop  to  think,  Miss  Lady, 
that  he's  a  powerful  fine  young  man?" 

"Why  do  you  always  talk  about  him?"  said  Miss 
Lady,  turning,  to  the  sudden  discomfort  of  one  of 
the  puppies.  "Every  time  anything  comes  up — " 

"Now,  hold  on,"  said  Blount,  "you  don't  say  a 
word  against  that  young  man  while  I'm  around.  I 
want  to  tell  you  that  fellow  has  showed  me  a  heap. 
He's  a  square,  hard-working  man,  as  honest  as  the 
day  is  long,  straight  as  a  string,  square  as  they  make 
'em,  and  not  afraid  of  nothing  on  earth.  I  ask  him 
to  come  down  here  and  go  b'ah  hunting.  He  always 
says  he  has  to  work — works  harder  than  any  nigger 
I  ever  had  on  the  place.  Now  that's  what  he  done 
showed  me.  I  reckon  he  'd  be  a  good  sort  of  model  for 
this  whole  southern  country  to-day.  He's  proof 
enough  to  my  mind  that  a  man  can  work,  and  do  his 
own  work,  and  still  be  a  gentleman.  I've  been  right 
lazy  in  my  time,  I  reckon,  b'ah  hunting  and  that  sort 
of  thing,  but  now  I  come  to  think  it  all  over,  I  don't 
know  but  what  Jack  Eddring  is  as  near  right  as  any- 
body I  know  of.  He  allows  he's  got  something  to  do 


MISS  LADY  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE         367 

in  this  world,  and  he's  starting  out  to  do  it.  He  sort 
of  showed  me  that  maybe  that's  about  the  best  thing 
a  man  can  do  with  himself — just  work. 

"Besides,  Miss  Lady," — and  here  Blount  turned 
upon  her  suddenly,  "that  man's  done  a  heap  for 
you." 

"Oh,  well — "  began  Miss  Lady. 

"And  he  thinks  a  heap  of  you.  That  is," — and  here 
Blount  undertook  to  save  himself  from  what  he 
swiftly  fancied  might  be  indiscretion— "he's  like  all 
of  us  people  down  in  here,  you  know.  Now  they  tell 
me  that  up  North,  in  the  big  cities  where  I've  never 
been  at,  there's  so  many  women  that  folks  think 
they're  right  common.  I  don't  believe  that,  nohow, 
for  it  don't  stand  to  reason.  Now  we-all  know  that  a 
woman  is  something  a  good  ways  off,  and  high  up  and 
hard  to  reach.  That's  the  way  we-all  feel.  But  now 
even  if  we  allow  it  that  way,  I  want  to  say  that  Jack 
Eddring  has  done  a  heap  for  you,  Miss  Lady,  that 
maybe  you  don't  know  about.  He  didn't  have  to  do 
it,  either." 

"I  never  asked  him  to  do  anything — I  never  told 
him." 

"No,  you  didn't,"  said  Cal  Blount,  gravely.  "You 
sort  of  allowed  that  he  was  a  meddling  sneak-thief, 
Miss  Lady.  I  want  to  say  right  here  that  I  allow  a  lot 


368  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

different  from  that.  Now,  if  I  know  that  man  at 
all,  he  ain't  going  to  come  around  you  and  make  any 
sort  of  talk.  You'll  have  to  go  to  him." 

"I'll  not!"  said  Miss  Lady,  again  eliciting  a  yelp 
from  one  of  the  puppies  in  her  lap. 

"There,  there,  now,"  said  Blount,  gently.  "Just 
you  hold  on  a  minute.  Don't  say  you  will  or  you 
won't.  I  just  want  to  ask  you  one  thing,  Miss  Lady. 
Who  do  you  reckon  you  are?  I  know  you're  Miss 
Lady,  and  that 's  all  I  want  to  know.  But  who  do  you 
think  you  are  ? ' ' 

The  kindness  of  the  keen  gray  eye  disarmed  Miss 
Lady.  In  the  sheer  instinct  of  youth  and  vitality  she 
spread  out  her  arms  wide,  her  face  turned  up  half- 
way toward  the  sky,  her  lips  half-parted :  ' '  Oh,  don 't 
ask  me,  Colonel  Cal,"  said  she.  "I'm  alive,  and  it's 
spring.  I  danced  in  the  big  room  this  morning,  Colo- 
nel Cal!  Isn't  it  enough,  just  to  be  alive?"  Thus 
she  evaded  that  question,  which  she  had  so  long 
shunned  as  impossible  of  answer. 

"Yes,  it's  enough,  Miss  Lady,"  said  the  old  planter, 
gravely.  "It's  enough  for  you.  But  now,  we  men 
who  are  your  friends  have  got  to  take  care  of  you. 
We've  got  to  do  the  thinking.  Now,  I'm  saying  that 
Jack  Eddring  has  done  a  heap  of  thinking  for  you 
that  you  don't  know  anything  about." 


MISS  LADY  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE         369 

' '  Oh,  I  know  he  sort  of  took  charge  of  things  down 
there  at  New  Orleans.  He  told  me  a  lot.  And  then — 
about  Mr.  Decherd — " 

"Yes,  about  Mr.  Decherd.  I've  never  talked  much 
to  you  about  that,  because  the  time  hadn't  come.  Now 
I  want  to  say  that  Jack  Eddring  had  more  right  to 
throw  that  man  Decherd  off  the  boat  than  ever  you 
understood.  I'd  have  done  it  the  same  way,  only 
maybe  rougher.  We're  friends  of  yours.  You're 
ours,  you  know.  You  haven.'t  got  any  mother. 
Thank  God,  you  haven't  got  any  husband.  You 
haven't  got  any  father.  Now  tell  me,  Miss  Lady,  who 
do  you  reckon  Henry  Decherd  is,  and  what  do  you 
think  he  wanted  to  do?" 

Miss  Lady,  suddenly  sober,  turned  toward  him  a 
face  grave  and  thoughful.  A  certain  portion  of  the 
old  morbidness  returned  to  her.  "It's  not  kind  of 
you,  Colonel  Cal,"  said  she,  "to  remind  me  that  I'm 
nobody.  I'm  worse  than  an  orphan.  I'm  worse  than 
a  foundling.  How  I  endure  staying  here  is  more  than 
I  can  tell.  Shall  I  go  away  again?" 

' '  There,  there,  none  of  that, ' '  said  Blount,  sharply. 
"I'll  have  none  of  that;  and  you'll  understand  that 
right  away.  You're  here,  and  you  belong  here.  You 
don't  go  out  beyond  the  edge  of  this  yard  and  get 
tangled  up  with  any  more  Henry  Decherds,  I'll  tell 


370  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

you  that.  Now,  there's  certain  things  people  are  fitted 
for.  There's  Mrs.  Delchasse,  a-stewing  and  a-kicking 
all  the  time  because  she  wants  to  go  back  to  New  Or- 
leans. I  tell  her  she  can't  go,  because  she's  got  to  stay 
here  and  take  care  of  you.  Now  I  'm  fit  to  hunt  b  'ah. 
I  can  tell  by  looking  at  a  b'ah's  track  which  way  he's 
going  to  run.  Same  way  with  Mrs.  Delchasse.  She 
can  just  look  at  a  cook  stove  and  tell  what  it's  going 
to  do.  You  can  run  the  rest  of  this  house,  and  do  it 
easy.  We're  all  right,  just  the  way  we  are.  Now  it's 
going  to  be  that  way  for  a  while,  and  no  other  way, 
and  I  don't  want  no  orphan  talk  from  you.  For  the 
time  being  I  'm  your  daddy — and  nothing  else. 

"But  now,"  he  went  on,  presently,  "Jack  Ed- 
dring  is  fit  to  do  other  things.  He's  been  digging 
around,  like  he  maybe  told  you  part  way,  for  all  I 
know,  and  he 's  found  out  a  heap  of  things  about  you 
that  you  didn't  know,  and  I  didn't  know.  Miss  Lady, 
as  far  as  I  know,  you  may  be  richer  than  I  am  before 
long.  If  you  think  I've  missed -the  corn-bread  you've 
done  eat  at  my  place,  why,  maybe  some  day  we  can 
negotiate  for  you  to  pay  for  it.  Now  I  ask  you  once 
more,  who  are  you?  and  you  can't  tell.  How  ought 
you  to  feel  toward  the  man  who  can  tell  you  what  you 
are,  and  who  you  are?  And  him  a  man  who  can  do 


MISS  LADY  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE         371 

that,  not  for  pay,  but  just  because  you  are  Miss  Lady. 
How  ought  you  to  feel  in  a  case  like  that?" 

Miss  Lady  said  nothing.  She  only  looked  anxious 
and  ill  at  ease. 

"Now  listen.  I'm  going  to  tell  you  what  we  know 
about  you,  or  think  we  know. 

"We  think  your  real  name  is  Louise  Loisson,  just 
the  name  you  picked  out  for  yourself.  We  think  that 
was  the  name  of  your  mother,  and  of  your  grand- 
mother, too,  for  that  matter.  If  all  that  is  so,  then 
you're  rich,  if  you  can  prove  your  title;  and  we  think 
you  can.  Tell  me,  what  do  you  know  about  Mrs.  Elli- 
son ?  And  what  do  you  know  about  Henry  Decherd  ? 
Were  they  ever  married?" 

A  deep  flush  of  shame  sprang  to  Miss  Lady's  face 
as  she  turned  about  at  this.  "Colonel  Cal,"  she  be- 
gan, and  her  voice  trembled;  "you  hurt.  All  this 
hurts  me  so." 

' '  Now  hold  on,  child, ' '  said  Blount,  quickly.  ' '  None 
of  that,  either.  This  is  strictly  business.  I  know  you 
are  not  the  child  of  Mrs.  Ellison.  You  are  somebody 
else's  daughter.  You  were  in  her  company  or  her 
possession  for  a  long  time;  just  why,  we  can't  prove 
yet  a  while.  But  there  was  something  right  mysterious 
between  that  fellow  Decherd  and  Mrs.  Ellison.  Did 


372  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

you  ever  see  them  much  together,  as  long  as  you  were 
living  with  Mrs.  Ellison?" 

"No,"  said  Miss  Lady,  "never,  except  as  they  met 
occasionally  here  or  there.  Mrs.  Ellison  traveled  a 
great  deal  from  time  to  time,  when  I  was  little,  before 
we  went  to  New  Orleans,  where  I  went  to  school  with 
the  Sisters.  She,  my  mother — that  is,  Mrs.  Ellison — 
had  money  from  somewhere,  not  always  very  much. 
Mr.  Decherd  told  me  often  that  he  simply  was  an  old 
friend  of  hers.  I  always  thought  he  was  a  lawyer 
somewhere  in  this  state.  Sometimes  he  went  to  St. 
Louis.  We  went  to  New  Orleans;  and  that  was  the 
last  I  saw  of  him  for  some  years  until  we  came  here 
to  the  Big  House." 

"That's  all  you  know?"  asked  Blount.  "You 
don't  remember  any  mother  of  your  own?" 

"Not  in  the  least."  Tears  welled  from  her  eyes, 
and  this  time  Blount  did  not  protest. 

"Miss  Lady,"  said  he,  "there  are  some  things  we 
can't  clear  up  yet.  We  can't  prove  just  yet  who  was 
your  own  mother,  but  I  want  to  tell  you,  you  were 
born  as  far  above  that  sort  of  life  as  that  there  sun  is 
above  the  earth.  No  matter  how  much  Decherd  loved 
you,  or  how  much  right  he  had  to  love  you,  he  couldn't 
do  you  anything  but  wrong  and  harm,  and  injury, 
and  shame.  As  near  as  we  can  find  out,  he  was  about 


MISS  LADY  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE         373 

as  bad,  and  about  as  sharp  a  man  as  ever  struck  this 
country.  "We  couldn't  hardly  believe  at  first  how 
smooth  he  was.  Miss  Lady,  we  can't  tell  just  what  his 
relations  to  Mrs.  Ellison  were.  We  know  they  had 
some  kind  of  an  understanding.  We  know  that  he  was 
mixed  up  with  Delphine  down  here  on  some  sort  of 
a  basis.  We  know  that  he  was  robbing  the  railroad 
here  with  a  list  of  judgment  claims  against  the  road, 
which  he  stole  in  some  way.  We  know  he  was  under- 
neath a  heap  of  this  trouble  with  the  niggers  down 
here,  and  that  he  used  Delphine  as  a  cat's-paw  in  that. 
It  was  his  scheme  to  have  other  people  stir  up  all  the 
trouble  they  could,  so  he  could  carry  on  his  own  devil- 
ment behind  the  smoke.  Now  we  know  he  was  mixed 
up  with  those  two  women  somehow.  I  won't  ask  you 
any  questions,  and  won't  try  to  understand  why  you 
could  have  been  so  blind  as  not  to  know  your  own 
friends. — No,  Miss  Lady,  come  back  here,  and  sit 
right  down.  You've  got  to  take  your  own  medicine, 
and  some  day  you've  got  to  know  your  own  friends. 
Now  sit  down,  and  hold  on  till  I  tell  you  what  I  know 
about  this." 

And  so,  to  a  Miss  Lady  alternately  shocked  and 
ashamed,  he  went  on  to  tell  in  his  own  fashion,  and 
to  the  best  of  his  knowledge,  the  facts  of  the  strange 
story  which  had  been  canvassed  between  himself  and 


374  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Eddring  long  before.  The  sun  was  still  farther  up 
in  the  heavens  when  he  had  concluded,  and  when 
finally  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  stood  erect  before  her. 
"So  there  you  are,  Miss  Lady,"  said  he.  "You 
couldn't  be  any  better  than  we  knew  you  were  all 
along.  I  don't  think  any  more  of  you  now  than  I 
ever  did;  and  I  don't  believe  Jack  Eddring  does 
either.  Now,  we  don't  know  where  this  man  Decherd 
will  turn  up  again.  You've  got  to  stay  here  until  we 
find  out  about  that.  But  this  thing  can't  run  along 
this  way,  and  it's  got  to  be  settled  on  a  business 
basis.  We've  got  to  find  Mrs.  Ellison  and  make  her 
tell  what  she  knows.  As  to  Decherd,  his  own 
rope '11  hang  him  before  long.  Now,  I'm  going  to  be 
your  agent,  your  attorney-in-fact.  That's  what  we'd 
call  a  'next  friend'  in  law,  maybe,  though  you  don't 
need  any  guardian  now.  If  you've  got  any  bet- 
ter friend,  you  name  him,  but  I  know  you  haven't. 
Then  we'll  start  suit  to  get  possession  of  that  prop- 
erty, which  is  yours.  Jack  Eddring  will  be  your 
attorney.  I'll  appoint  him  myself,  right  now.  He's 
just  a  little  too  good  for  you,  Miss  Lady,  for  you 
didn't  think  he  was  honest;  but  he'll  handle  this  case. 
The  only  promise  I  want  of  you  is  this:  if  you  get 
plumb  rich  and  independent,  and  able  to  go  where 
you  like,  and  marry  anybody  you  want  to,  you  won't 


MISS  LADY  AT  THE  BIG  HOUSE         375 

get  up  and  go  right  away  at  once  and  leave  ns  all. 
You  won't  do  that  right  away,  now  will  you,  Miss 
Lady?" 

Tears  still  stood  in  Miss  Lady's  eyes,  as  she  put 
both  her  hands  in  the  big  one  extended  to  her.  ' '  Colo- 
nel Gal,"  said  she,  "it's  a  wonder  that  I  can  know  my 
friends,  or  tell  the  truth,  or  do  anything  that's 
right.  It's  been  deceit,  and  treachery,  and  wrong 
about  me  all  the  time.  I  have  hardly  heard  a  true 
word,  it  seems  to  me,  except  when  I  was  with  the 
Sisters.  But  I  think  that  she,  Mrs.  Ellison,  told  me 
one  true  thing,  although  she  didn't  mean  it  that  way. 
She  said,  'There's  nothing  in  the  world  for  a  woman 
except  the  men.'  That's  the  truth.  It's  been  the 
truth  for  me.  They're  not  all  bad;  I  know  now  I've 
met  two  good  ones,  at  least." 

"You  said  two?"  asked  Blount. 

Miss  Lady  hesitated.  "Yes— two,"  she  said.  "I'm 
so  sorry." 

Blount  caught  the  penitence  of  her  tone  and  the 
meaning  of  her  unfinished  speech,  and  was  content  to 
leave  his  friend's  case  as  it  was.  "Miss  Lady,"  said 
he,  sternly,  "what  do  you  mean  idling  around  here 
all  the  morning?  Can't  you  hear  my  dogs  hollering? 
Them  puppies  will  just  naturally  starve  to  death,  and 


376  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

here  you  are  a- visiting  around  in  the  shade,  not  tend- 
ing to  business. ' ' 

It  was  a  sober  and  thoughtful  young  woman  who 
looked  up  at  him.  "All  my  life,  Colonel  Cal,"  said 
she, ' '  there  has  been  a  sort  of  cloud  before  my  eyes.  I 
could  not  see  clearly.  Tell  me,  do  you  think  I  '11  ever 
understand,  and  see  everything  clearly,  and  be  my 
real  self?" 

"Yes,  girl,"  said  Calvin  Blount,  "you'll  see  it  all 
clear,  some  day;  and  I  hope  it  won't  be  long.  Now, 
I  said,  go  feed  them  puppies.  And  look  at  old  Hec, 
there,  wanting  to  talk  to  you." 


CHAPTER  XIX, 

THREE  LADIES  LOUISE 

In  the  city,  as  well  as  in  the  country,  spring  came 
with  a  sensible  charm.  John  Eddring,  as  he  gazed 
out  of  his  office  one  morning  at  the  slow  life  of  the 
southern  city  and  felt  the  breath  of  the  warm  wind  at 
the  casement,  abandoned  himself  for  the  time  to  the 
relaxation  of  the  season.  Peace  and  content  seemed 
to  abide  here  also,  and  Eddring,  looking  out  of  his 
window,  sighed  not  altogether  in  sadness  that  his 
world  was  proving  so  endurable;  that  it  might  even, 
in  time,  prove  comforting.  With  a  man's  exulta- 
tion, he  found  happiness  in  the  certainty  that  he 
could  do  his  work,  and  that  there  was  work  for  him 
to  do — work  perhaps  in  some  sort  higher  than  that 
which  he  had  recently  assigned  to  himself.  Before 
him  on  his  desk  there  lay  a  communication  which 
meant  his  nomination  as  candidate  at  the  next  elec- 
tion for  the  state  Legislature.  It  was  pointed  out  to 
him  that  in  all  likelihood  greater  honors  might  await 
him  at  the  hands  of  his  district,  as  of  the  county. 
He  found  in  this  not  so  much  personal  pride  as  a 

377 


378  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

sense  of  responsibility.  Yet  there  remained  comfort 
in  the  fact  that  he  was  growing,  that  he  was  in  some 
measure  attaining.  As  with  any  man  truly  great, 
this  left  him  no  more  selfish,  no  more  egotistic,  than 
is  the  stringed  instrument  which,  under  the  miracle 
of  a  higher  power,  finds  itself  capable  of  music. 

Upon  Eddring's  desk  at  that  moment  there  lay 
close  beside  the  opened  letter  certain  papers,  none 
other  than  the  brief  in  the  case  of  Louise  Loisson 
against  Henry  Decherd,  in  ejectment,  defendant 
charged  with  holding  certain  properties  without 
legal  title  thereto.  For  years  now  Eddring  had  fol- 
lowed the  curious  and  intricate  question  of  the  Loisson 
estate,  and  little  by  little  he  had  seen  the  tangled 
skein  unravel  beneath  his  hand.  There  were  necessary 
links  of  the  evidence  yet  to  be  supplied. 

As  against  all  adverse  title,  there  needed  to  be 
urged  for  his  client  descent  for  three  generations, 
carried  in  each  generation  by  a  single  child,  who  in 
each  case  bore  the  name  of  Louise  Loisson— certainly 
a  strange  and  singular  legal  contingency.  There 
needed  to  be  three  ladies  Louise ;  and  of  these  he  had 
found  but  two.  There  was  no  great  difficulty  in  es- 
tablishing the  fact  that  the  grandmother  of  Louise 
Loisson  was  the  daughter  of  the  Comte  de  Loisson; 
that  she  returned  to  Paris  early  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  379 

tury;  that  in  spite  of  her  noble  birth  she  figured  for 
some  years  as  a  danseuse  in  leading  Continental  cities, 
— a  dancer  of  strange  dances.  This  Louise  Loisson,  as 
he  discovered,  had  some  years  later,  after  declining  all 
manner  of  titled  suitors,  married  a  distant  cousin,  by 
name  Eaoul  de  Loisson,  of  Favreuil-Chantry,  France ; 
a  young  nobleman  of  democratic  tendencies,  who 
later  removed  to  New  Orleans,  in  the  state  of  Louis- 
iana. So  much  for  the  first  Louise  Loisson. 

Records  showed  that  to  Raoul  and  Louise  Loisson 
was  born  one  daughter,  Louise,  who  married  one 
Robert  Fanning,  a  planter  and  cattle  dealer.  But 
the  confusion  of  records  brought  about  by  the  Civil 
War  left  it  impossible  to  tell  what  became  of  this 
Louise  Loisson-Fanning,  or  of  either  of  her  parents. 
The  trail  ended  abruptly;  nor  could  Eddring  find 
any  means  of  pursuing  it  further,  certain  as  he  was 
that,  in  the  person  of  Miss  Lady,  he  had  found  the 
third  Louise  Loisson  and  the  rightful  heiress  of  the 
Loisson  properties  in  the  mountains  below  St.  Louis. 
Again  he  looked  at  his  uncompleted  papers,  and 
again  he  sighed. 

It  was  well  toward  noon,  and  Eddring  was  busying 
himself  about  other  matters,  when  he  heard  the  knock 
of  his  faithful  henchman,  Jack,  and  bade  him  enter. 

"Lady  done  sent  me  over  f 'om  de  hotel,  sah,"  said 


380  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Jack.  "I  brung  her  trunk  up  f '  om  de  de-pot.  Heah's 
her  kyard.  She's  over  to  the  hotel,  an'  wants  you 
to  come  oveh  dah." 

Eddring  started  to  his  feet  as  he  saw  the  name 
upon  the  card.  "Tell  the  lady,"  said  he,  "to  come 
here  to  my  own  office.  Tell  her  to  come  at  once,  and 
say  that  I  will  wait  for  her. ' '  And  thus,  a  half -hour 
later,  there  appeared  at  his  door  the  figure  of  Alice 
Ellison,  sometime  adventurous,  yet  not  always  happy, 
woman  of  fortune. 

Eddring  gazed  at  her  sharply.  She  seemed  older. 
Traces  of  dissipation  showed  upon  her  face.  Her  eye, 
a  trifle  more  furtive,  glanced  from  side  to  side  as 
though  she  felt  herself  pursued.  Yet  in  spite  of  all, 
Alice  Ellison,  even  at  her  years,  was  a  woman  not 
wholly  without  charm.  She  stood  now,  hesitating,  her 
hand  still  upon  the  knob  of  the  door,  her  face  not  al- 
together confident  as  she  gazed  at  the  man  before  her. 

"Come  in,  Madam,  and  be  seated,"  said  Eddring. 
"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

His  tone  reassured  her,  and  she  entered,  half-ex- 
tending to  him  her  hand. 

"I— I  know  you  are  a  good  lawyer,  Mr.  Eddring," 
said  she,  "and  I— well,  I'm  in  trouble.  I've  a  case, 
a  very  interesting  one,  which  means  a  great  deal  of 
money  to  some  one.  I  thought  that  perhaps  you'd 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  381 

like  to  take  my  case.  I  have  always  had  so  much 
respect  for  you,  Mr.  Eddring." 

She  turned  upon  him  eyes  which  might  have  been 
compelling  enough  under  certain  circumstances,  but 
whose  glance  was  lost  upon  the  man  before  her. 
Eddring  stepped  quietly  to  the  door,  closed  it  and 
sprung  the  lock.  "Madam,"  said  he,  "are  you  alone 
in  this  case?  Do  you  not  really  mean  that  you  and 
Mr.  Henry  Decherd  are  partners  in  this  enterprise?" 

She  started  up.  ' '  Open  the  door ! ' '  she  cried.  ' '  Let 
me  out!" 

"No,"  said  Eddring;  "you  can  not  go.  In  one 
way  it  is  effrontery  for  you  to  come  here.  But  in 
another,  it  was  the  best  thing  you  could  do.  The 
case  of  yourself  and  this  man  Decherd  might  be  taken 
without  retainer  by  the  prosecuting  attorney  of  any 
of  a  half-dozen  localities.  You  may  know  that  I'm 
acquainted  with  many  of  the  details  of  this  case  in  the 
past;  but  still  you  have  done  well  to  come  here." 

"You'll  not  tell  him—"  she  began. 

"You  mean  Decherd?"  She  nodded,  her  hand  at 
her  throat.  "I'm  afraid  of  him,"  she  said.  "He'll 
kill  me.  He'll  kill  me  some  day,  surely.  I  wanted 
you— I  wanted  you  to  take  care  of  me.  I— I've  al- 
ways thought  so  much  of  you,  Mr.  Eddring." 

She  reached  out  to  him  a  pitiful  hand,  and  on  her 


382  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

face  was  the  horrible  mask  of  a  woman  endeavor- 
ing feminine  arts  while  upon  her  soul  there  sat  naught 
but  horror  and  personal  concern.  Eddring  looked  at 
her  in  simple  pity.  "Be  seated  here,  Madam,"  said 
he.  "Be  quiet,  and  make  yourself  at  ease.  The 
safest  thing  you  can  do  is  to  tell  me  the  whole  truth. 
I  want  your  story,  and  I  must  have  it.  That  will  be 
the  safest  thing  for  you." 

"But  I  don't  want— I  don't  want  any  one  to  hear 
us." 

<JNo  one  need  hear  us.  "We  shall  not  need  even 
a  notary  or  a  clerk.  Talk  to  me  freely,  and  after- 
ward I  will  make  a  memorandum,  which  you  can 
attest.  In  the  case  of  a  contested  land  title,  that  can 
later  be  introduced  under  a  bill  for  the  perpetuation 
of  the  evidence.  You  must  simply  tell  me  the  truth, 
now,  and  in  your  own  way." 

The  face  of  Alice  Ellison  grew  more  haggard.  Sud- 
denly all  the  weakness  of  her  sex  swept  over  her — 
all  the  weakness  also  of  the  wrong-doer.  The  comfort 
of  the  confessional  seemed  the  sole  happiness  possible 
for  her.  And  so  it  was  that  she  gave  to  Eddring 
the  first  direct  confirmation  of  that  which  he  had  by 
piece-work  reasoning  convinced  himself  to  be  the 
truth.  He  first  rapidly  ran  over  the  salient  features 
of  the  Loisson  story,  explaining  to  her  fully  his 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  383 

interest  in  the  same,  and  pointing  out  to  her  the  cer- 
tainty of  his  success  as  well  as  the  hopelessness  of  any 
contest  on  the  part  of  herself  or  Decherd.  Thereafter 
his  questions  induced  the  other  to  speak  definitely. 

"You  were  right  about  the  book,"  said  Alice  Elli- 
son. "It  was  found  in  the  Congressional  Library  by 
that  man,  by  Mr.  Decherd.  I  took  it  from  there  my- 
self, and  I  always  kept  it.  The  first  Louise  Loisson 
married  her  cousin,  I  think,  in  about  1841,  and  she 
and  her  husband  came  to  New  Orleans  not  long  after 
that.  Louise  Loisson  the  second  was  born  in  1848  at 
New  Orleans,  and  she  married,  as  you  say,  this  Mr. 
Fanning.  She  was  not  known  as  Louise  Loisson. 
Raoul  de  Loisson  turned  a  very  ardent  democrat. 
He  was  known  in  New  Orleans,  or  at  least  publicly 
known,  under  the  name  of  Ellison,  which  form  of  his 
name  he  thought  was  more  American. 

"Louise,  his  daughter,  was  also  known  under  the 
name  of  Ellison.  She  was  not  married  until  1874. 
Before  her  marriage  she  was  an  orphan,  and  you 
might  have  found,  had  you  been  lucky  enough,  proof 
of  the  fact  that  she  was  known  on  the  stage  of  the 
old  French  Opera  House,  even  after  the  close  of  the 
Civil  War.  Her  mother  died  while  Louise,  the  second 
Louise,  was  in  her  youth.  Her  father,  then  a  major 
in  a  Louisiana  regiment,  was  killed  during  the  war, 
in  the  fighting  near  Atlanta. 


384  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"Louise  Ellison  was  thus,  like  all  the  other  unfor- 
tunate girls  of  that  family,  left  alone  early  in  life. 
The  first  Louise  perhaps  learned  her  strange  dancing 
in  a  school  of  her  own  somewhere  in  the  West.  Louise 
Ellison  the  second  also  had  her  own  methods.  She 
danced  in  New  Orleans  for  a  time,  but  went  from 
there  to  Paris.  They  all  danced — they  could  not  help 
it.  It  was  heredity,  I  suppose.  The  second  one 
danced,  like  her  mother — and  then  married. ' ' 

"I  thought  you  said  she  was  married  in  New 
Orleans." 

"Not  in  New  Orleans,  but  in  Paris.  You  know,  at 
one  time,  the  rich  planters  of  Louisiana  spent  half 
the  year  regularly  in  Paris.  It  was  so  with  Robert 
Fanning.  The  story  is  that  he  met  her  first  in  Paris, 
dancing  at  one  of  the  theaters,  and  creating  a  furore, 
as  her  mother  had  before  her.  He  learned  that  she 
was  American  and  from  New  Orleans,  and  year  after 
year  he  urged  her  to  marry  him.  She  must  have  been 
late  in  her  twenties  before  she  finally  did  so,  for  that 
was  in  1874.  They  probably  lived  in  Paris  for  a 
time,  for  it  was  not  until  1877  that  they  came  back 
to  Fanning 's  plantation,  where  her  baby  was  born." 

The  hand  of  John  Eddring,  lying  upon  the  table 
before  him,  twitched  and  trembled.  "And  that 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  385 

child,"  said  he,  "was  Miss  Lady  Ellison?  Tell  me, 
tell  me  at  once ! ' ' 

"Yes,"  whispered  Alice  Ellison,  her  eyes  turned 
aside  from  his  gaze.  Eddring  drew  a  long  sigh  of 
relief.  "Thank  God!"  said  he.  "So  that  was  our 
Miss  Lady  Ellison,  and  she  was  not  your  child.  Now, 
tell  me,  as  soon  as  you  can,  how  did  it  all  happen? 
Tell  me,  where  did  you  meet  Decherd  ?  Who  was  he  ? 
Was  he  your  husband?  Tell  me  now,  as  fast  as  you 
can." 

Mrs.  Ellison  paled  before  his  vehemence,  and  her 
voice  broke  a  bit  tremulously.  "Well,  then,  wait," 
said  she.  "  I  'm  going  to  tell  you.  You  must  know  all 
this  is  hard— awfully  hard.  If  I  told  you  this  you 
could  put  me  in  prison.  You  could  do  anything. 
Promise  me  that  you  will  not  take  any  action." 

"I  promise  you,"  said  Eddring,  sharply.  "Tell 
me  the  truth,  and  help  me  to  put  this  girl  where  she 
belongs,  and  I  '11  see  that  you  are  not  prosecuted.  But 
now  tell  me  about  yourself  and  this  man  Decherd. 
Were  you  married?  Where  did  you  meet  him?" 

"I  was  born  in  the  North,"  she  went  on,  hesitat- 
ing. "I  won't  tell  you  my  name.  My  family  was 
good  enough.  I  may  have  been  wild  when  I  was  a 
girl.  I  won 't  say  as  to  that.  I  was  a  good  deal  older 
than  Henry  Decherd  when  I  first  met  him  at  New 


386  TEE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

York.  He  attended  a  law  school  there.  He  told  me 
he  came  of  good  family,  and  he  seemed  able  and 
well-bred  enough.  He  was  infatuated  with  me.  We 
—well,  we  left  New  York  together." 

"Were  you  married?" 

"You  need  not  know.  At  least  we  were  engaged 
then  to  be  married,  and  God  knows  our  lives  were 
tangled  closely  enough  from  that  time  on.  We  were 
not  very  old,  either  of  us.  I  presume  we  cared  for 
each  other— you  know  how  that  is.  The  trouble  with 
him  was  he  was  following  off  after  all  the  women  in 
the  world.  Some  think  that  is  strength.  Any  woman 
who  knows  how  to  love  knows  it  is  weakness,  and  not 
strength.  At  any  rate,  it  was  that  which  made  our 
first  trouble.  Meantime,  he  was  not  regularly  taking 
up  the  practice  of  the  law.  I  found  him  practically 
disowned  by  his  family,  who  were  Shreveport  people 
originally.  In  one  way  or  another  he  found  a  bit  to 
do.  He  knew  Robert  Fanning  and  his  wife  through 
the  fact  that  he  had  done  legal  work  of  some  sort  for 
Fanning.  He  knew  also  an  old  lawyer,  or  sort  of 
notary,  who  used  to  do  business  for  Raoul  de  Loisson, 
or  Ralph  Ellison,  as  he  called  himself,  years  before. 
I  can't  tell  you  the  name  of  that  old  lawyer,  but 
Decherd  could  if  he  wanted  to.  He  was  somewhere 
down  on  Baronne  Street  in  those  days. 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  387 

' '  At  that  time  Mr.  Decherd  used  to  talk  to  me  more 
freely.  He  told  me  that  the  old  lawyer  had  told  him 
that  the  Loissons  were  legal  heirs  to  considerable 
lands  somewhere  tip  the  river,  not  far  from  St.  Louis. 
He  said  that  Raoul  de  Loisson  always  laughed  at  that 
when  he  brought  it  up,  and  declared  that  any  good 
American  ought  to  be  able  to  make  his  own  living  by 
himself,  without  counting  upon  his  wife's  fortune. 
Robert  Fanning  felt  the  same  way.  He  thought  he 
could  make  a  living  for  his  wife,  without  looking  up 
the  old  estate,  which  at  that  time  was  not  known  to 
be  of  any  great  value." 

"But  go  on,  tell  me  about  Fanning,"  broke  in 
Eddring,  impatiently. 

"I  am  going  to,  as  well  as  I  can.  You  must  re- 
member that  Mr.  Decherd  was  then  still  a  very  young 
man  indeed.  I  myself  was  older,  as  I  said.  This 
old  notary,  or  lawyer,  or  whatever  he  was,  had  never 
seen  me,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  he  was  well 
acquainted  or  not  with  the  Louise  Ellison  who  was 
Fanning 's  wife.  I  only  know  that  we  went  out  to 
Fanning 's  plantation  sometime  about  the  year  1877. 
Mr.  Fanning  was  away  in  Texas,  and  there  came  news 
of  his  death  somewhere  down  in  the  Rio  Grande 
country,  where  he  had  gone  to  purchase  cattle.  I 
don't  think  his  wife  ever  knew  of  his  fate.  Henry 


388  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

Decherd  and  I  were  there  together  at  the  plantation. 

"  If  I  told  you  the  truth  now  you  would  not  believe 
it.  But  what  I  am  telling  you  is  the  truth,  and  I  will 
swear  to  it.  Louise  Fanning  died  two  days  after  her 
baby  was  born.  I  lay  there  in  their  house  at  that 
time,  and  they  told  me  that  my  baby  had  died.  There 
was  no  one  then  acting  as  the  head  of  the  house. 
The  servants  were  all  distracted.  One  day  some  one 
came  and  put  this  live  baby,  the  daughter  of  Louise 
Fanning,  in  my  arms.  Oh!  you  don't  know,  but  I 
longed  so  for  my  baby !  My  arms,  fairly  ached.  So 
then  I  took  this  one  and  loved  it.  Sir,  I  was  a  mother 
to  her,  a  sort  of  mother— as  good,  I  suppose,  as  I 
could  have  been  at  all— for  a  long  time." 

Eddring  sat  looking  at  her,  his  fingers  pressed 
closely  to  his  lips.  "What  you  tell  me,  Madam,  is 
very,  very  strange,"  said  he.  "It  might  perhaps  have 
been  true." 

"Believe  it  or  not,"  said  Alice  Ellison,  "it  is  the 
truth,  as  I  have  told  you.  There  was  no  head  to  that 
household.  There  was  no  place  to  leave  that  little 
child.  I  took  it  for  my  own.  I  did  not  at  that  time 
intend  any  wrong.  I  don't  know  whether  Decherd 
did  at  that  time  or  not.  It  was  there  at  the  Fan- 
nings'  that  we  met  the  girl  Delphine,  who  had  come 
in  there  from  somewhere  in  the  Indian  Nations.  She 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  389 

was  then  in  her  early  teens,  and  was  good-looking. 
I  don't  want  to  talk  much  about  it,  but  it  was  then, 
I  think,  that  Henry  Decherd  got— got  interested  in 
her.  What  he  told  her  I  don't  know.  He  found  out 
in  some  way  that  her  name  was  Loise.  In  some  way 
then  and  later  he  got  to  looking  up  the  name  of  Loise 
in  St.  Louis,  where  the  girl  said  her  people  originally 
lived.  He  assumed  the  management  of  her  case,  along 
with  some  other  lawyers  to  whom  he  carried  it." 

"But  did  he  think  she  was  the  heiress  of  the  Lois- 
son  estates?" 

"You,  as  a  lawyer,  can  tell  that  better  than  I  can. 
In  some  ways  he  had  a  good  mind.  He  never  told 
me  much  after  that,  except  that  he  said  if  this  case 
was  ever  decided  he  could  not  lose,  no  matter  which 
way  it  went.  We  waited,  years  and  years,  for  the 
case  to  get  through  the  Supreme  Court." 

' '  How  did  you  live  in  the  meantime,  and  where  did 
you  go?" 

"Don't  ask  me  that.  We  lived  the  best  way  we 
could.  Decherd  got  money  now  and  again,  and  for 
reasons  of  his  own  he  sent  some  money,  once  in  a 
while,  to  keep  me  and  the  child,  although  he  prac- 
tically abandoned  me,  and,  as  I  think,  associated  the 
more  with  this  girl  Delphine.  He  claimed  to  me  all 
the  time  that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  live  in  this 


390  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

part  of  the  country,  in  order  to  handle  the  lawsuit 
for  her.  She  moVed  up  here  from  New  Orleans,  I 
suppose  to  some  town  not  far  from  Colonel  Blount's 
plantation.  I  think  he  got  us  in  there  at  Blount's 
place  because  he  thought  it  would  be  less  expense  to 
him.  In  the  meantime,  I  had  educated  the  girl  the 
best  I  could.  Sir,  I  loved  her  in  a  way,  until  I 
thought  other  men  were  noticing  her;  and  then  I 
could  not  stand  it." 

"But  you  have  not  told  me  all  of  your  story  up  to 
that  time,"  said  Eddring.  "It  is  not  easy  for  one 
absolutely  to  steal  a  child,  and  never  be  detected  and 
punished  for  it.  Moreover,  you  have  not  explained 
to  me  how  you  came  by  the  name  under  which  you 
were  known  to  all  of  us.  You  say  you  were  not  Mrs. 
Decherd.  Then  who  were  you?" 

The  woman's  lip  half -curled  in  scorn.  "Henry 
Decherd  would  have  guessed  that  long  ago, ' '  said  she. 
"Who  was  to  detect  us?  What  was  there  to  hinder? 
The  Fanning  family  was  wiped  out.  After  the  war 
he  had  no  relatives  remaining.  I  have  just  told  you 
his  wife  was  unknown  in  this  country.  This  was  her 
first  visit  after  her  marriage  in  Paris.  When  Henry 
Decherd  and  I  took  the  baby  back  to  New  Orleans, 
what  was  there  to  hinder  my  being  Louise  Ellison- 
Fanning,  the  widow  of  Robert  Fanning?  Decherd 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  391 

was  my  attorney.  The  old  notary  helped  these  sup- 
posed descendants  of  his  friend.  'It  was  he  who 
helped  us  find  the  lead  lands  in  St.  Francois  County. 
The  old  notary  was  as  much  a  lover  of  the  old  no- 
bility as  Raoul  de  Loisson  was  a  flouter  of  it. ' ' 

"Ah,  I  begin  to  see,"  said  Eddring.  "I  can  see  it 
unwinding  now!" 

"Yes,  it  was  not  difficult,  but  on  the  contrary, 
very  simple.  A  criminal,  if  you  please,  may  be  bold, 
and  boldness  means  success.  Now,  it  was  this  old 
notary  who,  through  friends  of  his  in  the  Louisiana 
Legislature,  had  the  Ellison  name  changed  back 
legally  to  Loisson,  as  the  records  of  that  state  show 
to-day,  although  you  have  not  discovered  those  facts. 
As  for  me,  it  made  little  difference.  The  name  of 
Ellison  was  established  in  the  state  of  Louisiana.  I 
simply  took  it,  and  wore  it  because  I  had  no  better. 
I  did  as  many  another  woman  has  done;  got  on  as 
best  I  could.  But  I  tell  you,  I  loved  the  girl  for  a 
long  time.  She  was  sweet  and  good.  I  felt  she  was 
my  own,  until  the  time  when  she  began  to  dance ;  and 
then  I  knew  perfectly  well  that  sometime  the  truth 
would  come  out.  I  could  feel  it.  Blood  and  breeding 
• — I  tell  you,  you  can't  escape  that.  It's  all  bound  to 
come  out.  I  might  have  known — I  did  know.  I 


392  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

dreaded  it,  all  along.  I  always  knew  the  truth  would 
come  out  some  day." 

The  two  sat  looking  at  each  other  in  silence  for  a 
time.  "Tell  me  the  rest,"  said  Eddring,  at  length. 

"The  old  lawyer  died  in  1879  or  1880,"  she  went 
on,  "but  by  that  time  Mr.  Decherd  knew  all  that  he 
cared  to  learn.  As  I  said,  he  was  less  confidential 
with  me  after  that.  That  was  the  time  when  he  was 
infatuated  with  Delphine.  Everything  was  to  his 
liking.  He  was  fond  of  intrigue,  and  the  more  in- 
tricate it  was,  the  better  for  him.  He  was  not  afraid 
— when  he  had  only  women  to  be  afraid  of.  With 
Delphine  and  me  he  did  as  he  pleased,  passing  from 
one  to  the  other.  Delphine  knew  a  part  of  the 
story,  I  do  not  know  just  how  much.  I  never  dared 
talk  too  much  with  Delphine,  for  fear  I  might  learn 
too  much,  or  she  might  learn  too  much.  I  was  afraid 
of  her,  and  I  was  more  afraid  of  him.  When  Miss 
Lady  grew  up,  then  I  got  jealous  of  her— oh!  I 
could  not  help  it.  I'm  a  woman,  you  know,  and  a 
woman  likes  to  be  loved  by  some  one.  I  got  to  com- 
paring Decherd  with  Colonel  Blount;  and  then  I— 
well,  never  mind.  I  need  only  say  I  was  frightened, 
and  I  needed  a  friend,  and  I  knew  the  Big  House  was 
the  best  home  we  were  apt  to  have,  and  the  safest 
place.  It  was  a  terrible  situation  down  there,  and 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  393 

only  three  of  us  knew.  Of  the  three,  Decherd  was  the 
only  one  who  knew  all  the  facts." 

"I'll  say  for  him,"  said  Eddring,  "that  his  bold- 
ness was  startling  enough.  He  was  a  dangerous 
man. ' ' 

"Yes,  he  was  dangerous.  But  when  he  got  started 
in  this  he  could  not  turn  back." 

"Exactly  what  Colonel  Blount  said  to  me  one 
time,"  said  Eddring.  "He  was  on  a  trembling  bog, 
and  he  had  to  keep  on  running." 

"Did  Colonel  Blount  say  that?  Does  he  know 
everything  ? ' ' 

"As  much  as  I  know,  or  presently  he  will  do  so;  I 
shall  tell  him  all  of  this  in  due  time." 

"Where  is  the  girl?    Where  is  Lady  now?" 

"At  the  Big  House,  and  safe." 

"And  where  is  Henry  Decherd?" 

"That  I  do  not  know.  We'll  hear  from  him  some 
day,  no  doubt." 

The  woman  looked  about  her,  as  though  still  in 
fear.  "Tell  me,  Mr.  Eddring,"  said  she,  "did  you— 
did  you  ever— I  mean,  do  you  love  that  girl  your- 
self?" 

"Very  much,  Madam,"  said  John  Eddring,  quietly. 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  her?" 

"No." 


394  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

"Then  why  did  she  give  you  her  ease?" 

"I  was  chosen  by  her  friend,  Colonel  Blount,  as 
the  lawyer  best  acquainted  with  these  facts." 

"Ah!  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Ellison,  turning  again  upon 
him  the  full  glance  of  her  dark  eyes.  "Why?  Can 
you  not  see— do  you  not  know?  Why  trouble  with 
a  half-baked  chit  like  her  ?  Drop  it  all,  sir.  You  are 
lawyer  enough  to  know  that  my  case  is  as  good  as 
hers,  if  handled  well.  If  I  knew  one  man  upon  whom 
I  could  depend— ah!  you  do  not  know,  you  will  not 
see!" 

One  hand,  white,  thick-palmed,  shapely,  ap- 
proached his  upon  the  table.  He  could  feel  its 
warmth  before  it  touched  his  own.  Then  swiftly  he 
caught  the  hand  in  a  hard  and  stern  grasp,  looking 
straight  into  the  eyes  of  its  owner.  "Madam,"  said 
he,  "none  of  this!  I  have  asked  you  to  tell  me  the 
truth.  I  have  told  you  the  truth.  The  truth  leaves 
us  very  far  apart.  You  are  safe;  but  you  must 
understand."  Her  eyes  sank,  and  on  her  cheek  the 
dull  flush  reappeared. 

"Now  I  want  you  to  go  on  and  answer  a  few  more 
questions,"  said  Eddring,  finally.  "I  suppose  that 
while  you  were  all  there  at  the  Big  House  you  were 
partners,  after  a  fashion.  How  much  did  you  know 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  395 

of  Delphine's  stirring  up  the  negroes  in  that  neigh- 
borhood?" 

"I  did  not  know  much  of  it.  I  only  guessed.  I 
put  nothing  beyond  Decherd." 

"Did  you  know  anything  about  the  levee-cutting?" 

"Nothing  whatever.  They  didn't  tell  me  anything 
of  that.  I  presume  it  didn't  suit  Henry  Decherd  to 
tell  me  everything  he  was  doing. ' ' 

"I  can  imagine  that,"  said  Eddring.  "There  was 
a  time  for  Decherd  to  lighten  ship,  and,  as  you  say, 
he  had  only  women  to  fear." 

"I  knew  myself  when  the  time  came  for  me  to 
leave  him,"  said  the  woman,  now  apathetically.  "I 
went  over  to  St.  Louis  soon  after  Miss  Lady  first  left 
the  Big  House,  and  after  Decherd  followed  her.  I 
knew  that  he  was  smitten  with  Miss  Lady,  and  that 
there  would  be  trouble,  and  that  neither  Delphine  nor 
myself  would  be  safe.  I  hid  as  best  I  could,  and 
lived  as  best  I  could.  Lately  I  have  been  frightened. 
I  thought  I  would  come  to  see  you.  I  hoped  you 
might  help  me.  I  don't  know  what  I  did  think." 

"You  don't  know  where  Decherd  is  at  present?" 

"No,  I  do  not." 

"Do  you  have  any  hope  that  he  will  ever  care  for 
you  in  any  way?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  woman,  slowly  and  dully,   "he 


396  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

cares  for  me.  He  '11  care  for  me.  He  '11  find  me  some 
day,  now  that  you've  taken  Miss  Lady  from  him." 

"And  you  will  go  back  to  him?" 

"Never!    God  forbid.    Love  him?    No!" 

"Yet  you  think  he  will  look  you  up  again.  Why? 
To  get  help  in  this  lawsuit?" 

"You  do  not  know  him.  He  knows  that  all  his 
hope  in  this  lawsuit  was  gone  long  ago.  He's  not  a 
fool.  But  he  is  going  to  hunt  me  up  some  day.  He's 
going  to  find  me;  and  then — he's  going  to  kill  me. 
He's  killed  Delphine,  and  he's  going  to  kill  me." 

The  two  white  hands,  trembling  now  as  though 
with  a  palsy,  fell  on  the  table  in  front  of  her.  Her 
eyes,  not  seeing  Eddring,  gazed  staring  straight  in 
front  of  her.  The  horror  of  her  soul  was  written 
upon  her  face.  Remorse,  repentance,  fear  for  the 
atonement — these  had  their  way  with  her  who  was 
lately  known  as  Alice  Ellison,  woman  of  fortune,  and 
now  served  ill  by  fortune's  hand. 

All  at  once  she  broke  from  her  half-stupor,  her 
overstrung  nerves  giving  way.  A  cry  of  terror  burst 
from  her  lips.  "You!"  she  cried,  "you  will  not  love 
me,  you  will  not  save  me!  Oh,  Lady,  girl— oh,  is 
there  no  one,  is  there  no  one  in  all  the  world  ? ' ' 

John  Eddring  took  her  firmly  by  the  shoulders, 
and  after  a  time  half-quieted  her. 


THREE  LADIES  LOUISE  397 

"Wine,"  she  sobbed;  "brandy — give  me  some- 
thing." 

Eddring  threw  open  the  door.  "Jack,"  he  cried; 
"Jack,  come  here.  Run  across  the  street  for  me. 
When  you  come  back  order  a  carriage.  This  lady  is 
ill." 

She  sat  for  a  time,  trembling.  Eddring,  himself 
agitated,  completed  his  hurried  writing.  She  signed. 
He  called  a  notary,  and  she  made  oath  with  a  hand 
that  shook  as  she  uplifted  it. 

John  Eddring,  possessed  at  length  of  the  last 
thread  of  his  mystery,  helped  down  the  stairs  the 
trembling  and  terror-stricken  woman  who  had  been 
the  final  agent  of  a  justice  long  deferred.  "Madam," 
he  said,  as  he  assisted  her  into  the  carriage,  ' '  I  thank 
you  for  Miss  Lady.  If  you  ever  have  any  need,  ad- 
dress me;  and  meantime,  keep  careful  watch.  Take 
care  of  yourself,  and  be  sure  this  knowledge  will 
never  be  used  against  you.  We  shall  not  see  you 
want." 

She  seemed  not  to  hear  him.  Her  eyes  still  stared 
straight  in  front  of  her.  "He's  coming,"  she  whis- 
pered. "It  will  be  the  end!" 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  LID  OF  THE  GRAVE 

In  a  little  room  of  a  poor  hotel  situated  on  a  back 
street  of  the  city  of  New  Orleans,  a  man  bent  over 
an  old  trunk  which  had  that  day  been  unearthed  from 
a  long-time  hiding-place.  It  had  for  years  been  left 
unopened.  It  was  like  opening  a  grave  now  to  raise 
its  cover.  The  man  almost  shuddered  as  he  bent 
over  and  looked  in,  curious  as  though  these  things 
had  never  before  met  his  gaze.  There  was  a  dull 
odor  of  dead  flowers  long  boxed  up.  A  faint  rustling 
as  of  intangible  things  became  Half  audible,  as 
though  spirits  passed  out  at  this  contact  with  the  outer 
air. 

"Twelve  years  ago— and  this  is  the  sort  of  luggage 
I  carried  then,"  he  mused.  "What  taste!  What  a 
foolish  boy !  Dear  me.  Well — what  ? ' '  His  bravado 
failed  him.  He  started,  fearing  something.  Yet 
presently  he  peered  in. 

It  was  like  a  grave,  yet  one  where  some  beneficent 
or  some  cruel  process  of  nature  had  resisted  the  way 
of  death  and  change.  "Foolish  boy!"  he  muttered, 
as  he  peered  in  and  saw  Life  as  it  had  been  for  him 
when  he  had  shut  down  the  lid.  "God!  it's  strange. 

398 


THE  LID  OF  THE  GKAVE  399 

There  ought  to  be  a  picture  or  so  near  the  top." 
He  touched  the  tray,  and  the  dead  flowers  and  dry 
papers  rustled  again  until  he  started  back.  His  face, 
tired,  dissipated,  deeply  lined,  went  all  the  paler, 
but  presently  he  delved  in  again. 

"Pictures  of  myself,  eh?  the  first  thing.  I  was 
always  first  thing  to  myself.  Nice,  clean  boy,  wasn't 
I  ?  Wouldn't  have  known  it  was  myself.  Might  have 
been  a  parson,  almost.  Here's  another.  Militia  uni- 
form, all  that.  Might  have  been  a  major,  almost. 
Uh-hum!  High  school  diploma  here— very  impor- 
tant. Eighteen— great  God,  was  it  so  long  ago  as 
that?  University  diploma— Latin.  Can't  read  it 
now.  Might  have  been  a  professor,  mightn't  I? 
Diploma  of  law  school;  also  Latin.  Certificate  of 

admission  to  the  bar  of  .  Might  have  been  a 

lawyer.  Might  have  been  a  judge,  mightn't  I? 
Might  have  a  home  now;  white,  green  blinds,  brick 
walk  up  to  the  door,  paling  fence— that  kind  of 
thing.  Might  have  had  a  home— wife  and  babies— 
eh!  Baby?  Children?  "What?  Well,  I  couldn't  call 
this  much  of  a  home,  could  I,  now?" 

He  unfolded  some  old  newspapers  and  periodicals 
of  a  departed  period,  bearing  proof  of  certain  of  his 
own  handicraft.  "Might  have  been  a  writer — poet — 
that  sort  of  thing!"  He  smiled  quizzically.  "Not 


400  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

so  bad.  Not  so  bad.  I  couldn't  do  as  well  to-day, 
I'm  afraid.  Seem  to  have  lost  it— let  go  somewhere. 
I  never  could  depend  on  myself —never  could  depend 
—ah,  what's  this?  Yes,  here  are  the  ladies,  God 
bless  them— la— ladies— God  bless  'em!" 

The  lower  tray  was  filled  with  pictures  of  girls  or 
women  of  all  types,  some  of  them  beautiful,  some  of 
them  coarse,  most  of  them  attractive  from  a  certain 
point  of  view.  "God!  what  a  lot!"  he  murmured. 
"How  did  I  do  it?  By  asking,  I  reckon.  Six— six — 
six  of  one — six  of  another.  Women  and  men  alike, 
eh?  Well,  I  don't  know.  Ask  'em,  you  win.  Or, 
don't  ask  'em,  you  win." 

His  hand  fell  upon  the  frame  of  a  little  mirror  laid 
away  in  the  old  trunk.  He  picked  it  up  and  gazed 
steadily  at  what  it  revealed.  "Changed,"  he  said, 
' '  changed  a  lot.  Must  have  gone  a  pace,  eh  ?  Lawyer. 
Judge.  Writer-man.  Poet.  I  thought  these  beat  all 
of  that," — and  he  looked  down  again  at  the  smiling 
faces.  He  picked  them  up  one  at  a  time  and  laid 
them  on  the  bed  beside  him.  "Alice,  Nora,  Clara, 
Kate,  Margaret — I'll  guess  at  the  names,  and  guess 
at  some  of  the  faces  now.  It's  the  same,  all  alike, 
the  hunting  of  love:  the  hunting— the  hunt— ing— 
of— love!  Great  thing.  But  of  course  we  never  do 
find  it,  do  we?  Ladies,  good  night,"  This  he  said 
in  half -mocking  solemnity, 


THE  LID  OF  THE  GRAVE  401 

He  bowed  ironically;  yet  his  face  was  more  un- 
easy now  than  wholly  mocking.  He  looked  once  more 
at  the  trunk-tray,  and  found  what  he  apparently 
half-feared  to  see.  "Madam!"  he  whispered.  "Mad- 
am! Alice!"  He  gazed  at  a  face  strong  and  full, 
with  deep  curved  lips,  and  wide  jaw,  and  large 
dark  eyes,  deeply  browed  and  striking,  the  face  of  a 
woman  to  beckon  to  a  man,  to  make  him  forget,  for  a 
time — and  that  was  Alice  Ellison  as  he  had  known 
her  years  ago,  before — before —  He  turned  away  and 
would  not  look  at  this.  He  tried  to  laugh,  to  mock. 
' '  Bless  you,  ladies, ' '  he  said,  "  I  've  often  said  I  would 
like  to  see  you  all  together  in  the  same  room.  Eh — but 
the  finding  of  it — oh,  we  never  do  find  it,  do  we  ?  Not 
love.  I  never  could  depend  on  myself. 

"What!  What's  this?"  he  exclaimed,  as  his  hand 
now  touched  something  else,  a  hard  object  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  trunk,  beneath  the  tray.  "Why,  here's 
my  old  pistol.  Twelve  years  old.  I  thought  I'd  lost 
it.  Loaded!  My  faith,  loaded  for  twelve  years. 
Wonder  if  it  would  go  off." 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  looking  into  the 
trunk,  the  revolver  in  his  hand.  Slowly,  slowly,  as 
though  against  his  will,  his  face  turned,  and  he  found 
himself  looking  down  at  the  pictured  smiling  faces 
that  stared  up  at  him,  The  last  picture  seemed  to 


402  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

frighten  him  with  its  smile.  All  the  pictures  smiled. 
"Alice!"  he  whispered. 

"My  God!"  cried  Henry  Decherd,  suddenly. 
"They're  alive!  They're  coming  to  life!" 

They  stood  about  him  now  in  the  little  room,  smil- 
ing, beckoning;  Alice,  Nora,  Kate,  Jane,  Margaret, 
all  the  rest,  as  he  addressed  them.  They  smiled  and 
beckoned;  but  he  could  not  reply,  whether  to  those 
honest  or  not  honest,  to  those  deceived  or  undeceived. 

The  face  of  Alice  Ellison,  strong- jawed,  dark- 
browed,  large-eyed,  stared  at  him  steadily  from  be- 
hind a  certain  chair.  He  could  see  that  her  hair  was 
wet.  It  hung  down  on  her  neck,  on  her  shoulders. 
It  clung  to  her  temples.  Her  eyes  gazed  at  him 
stonily  now.  He  saw  it  all  again — the  struggle!  He 
heard  his  own  accusations,  and  hers.  He  heard 
her  pleading,  her  cry  for  mercy;  and  then  her  cry 
of  terror.  He  saw  her  face,  staring  up  at  him  from 
the  water.  As  he  gazed,  the  other  faces  faded  away 
into  the  darkness.  He  stood,  staring,  Henry  Decherd, 
murderer  of  the  woman  whom  he  once  had  loved. 

The  porter  of  the  hotel  said  on  the  next  day  that 
he  remembered  hearing  late  in  the  night  a  sort  of 
crash,  which  sounded  like  the  dropping  of  a  trunk 
lid.  He  did  not  know  what  it  was.  The  lid  of  the 
grave  had  fallen  again  for  Henry  Decherd! 


GOD  !    THEY'RE   ALIVE,    THEY'RE   COMING   TO   LIFE  !     /.  4O2 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  BED  EIOT  OP  YOUTH 

The  rim  of  the  ancient  forest  still  made  the  bound- 
ary of  the  little  world  of  Miss  Lady.  Still  she  looked 
out  beyond  it  in  query,  yearningly,  longingly,  though 
now  she  found  herself  more  content  than  ever  in  her 
life  before. 

It  was  the  daily  habit  of  Miss  Lady  to  ride  for  a 
time  the  big  chestnut  saddler  which  Colonel  Blount 
had  devoted  to  her  special  use.  Mounted  thus  on 
Cherry,  she  cantered  each  day  over  the  fields,  where 
a  renewed  industry  had  now  set  on  again.  The  simple 
field  hands  looked  upon  her  as  a  higher  being,  and 
as  their  special  messenger.  If  a  baby  was  sick  at  a 
distant  cabin,  Miss  Lady  knew  of  it,  and  had  the 
proper  aid  despatched.  If  the  daughter  of  this  or 
the  other  laborer  needed  shoes  and  could  not  wait 
until  Christmas  accounting  time,  it  was  Miss  Lady 
who  interceded  with  the  master  of  the  Big  House. 

"I  couldn't  get  along  here  without  you  now,"  said 
that  stern  soul  to  her  gruffly.  "But  I  reckon  you'd 
better  run  away  again,  for  I'm  afraid  of  people  that 

403 


404  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

I  can't  get  along  without.  Besides,  you're  spoiling 
all  my  dogs,  a-honeying  of  'em  up  the  way  you  do/' 

Miss  Lady  only  laughed  at  that;  though  each  day 
she  looked  out  at  the  edge  of  her  world. 

Sometimes  so  wistfully  did  Miss  Lady  look  out 
beyond  the  rim  of  the  forest  that  she  felt  interest  in 
the  railway  trains  which  carried  her  now  and  then 
to  the  cities  north  or  south  of  her.  Sometimes,  even, 
girl-like  she  would  mount  Cherry,  jump  the  front 
fence  in  violation  of  Colonel  Blount's  imperative 
orders,  and  scurry  down  to  the  station  to  have  a  look 
at  the  incoming  trains.  The  conductors  of  all  these 
trains  knew  her  well,  and  often  the  brakeman  or  the 
conductor  would  hand  out  to  her  some  package  from 
the  city  as  she  rode  up  close  to  the  car  step,  after  the 
train  had  paused.  The  picture  of  Miss  Lady  and 
Cherry  was  a  pleasant  one,  and  more  than  one  pas- 
senger peered  out  of  a  car  window  to  see  the  tall  girl 
who  rode  so  well  and  who  seemed  so  sure  that  all  the 
world  meant  well  and  kindly  toward  her. 

Miss  Lady  was  now  fully  worthy  to  be  called  beau- 
tiful. She  rarely  rode  otherwise  than  bare-headed, 
and  the  high-rolled  masses  of  her  hair  had  grown 
tawnier  and  redder  for  that  reason.  Her  figure  gave 
perfect  lines  to  the  scarlet  jacket  which  so  well  be- 
came her.  Her  gauntlets  fitted  well  the  small,  firm 


THE  RED  RIOT  OF  YOUTH  405 

hands,  and  her  foot  was  ever  well-shod.  Ah,  indeed, 
in  those  days,  when  Miss  Lady  for  the  time  forgot 
her  past  unhappiness,  almost  at  times  ceased  to  won- 
der what  lay  out  beyond  the  forest,  almost  resigned 
herself  to  the  mere  happiness  of  a  glorious  young 
womanhood — she  did  indeed  seem  well-named  as 
Lady,  thoroughbred,  titled  as  by  right.  Her  eyes 
were  wide  and  trustful,  her  lips  high-curved,  her 
cheeks  pink  with  the  rush  of  the  air  when  Cherry 
galloped  hard ;  her  head  was  high,  her  gaze  direct. 
And  if,  now  and  again,  when  the  train  had  departed, 
Miss  Lady,  having  come  swiftly,  she  knew  not  why, 
rode  back  again  slowly,  she  knew  not  why;  if  at 
times  her  eyes  grew  pensive  as  she  listened  to  the 
mockers  gurgling  in  the  dogwood  or  on  the  honey- 
suckle, her  spirits  rose  again,  and  her  face  was  sure 
to  brighten  when  she  came  near  to  the  house  and 
hurried  Cherry  up  to  the  mounting  block.  She  was 
the  high-light  in  all  the  picture,  unconsciously  first 
in  the  gaze  and  thought  of  all.  No  woman  ever  was 
more  worshiped;  no,  nor  was  ever  one  more  fit  for 
worship.  Again,  as  old  Jules  once  had  said,  she  had 
become  a  religion ! 

One  morning  Miss  Lady,  her  hair  in  its  usual  riot 
of  tawny  brown,  her  face  flushed,  her  lips  laughing 
as  she  urged  Cherry's  nose  up  to  the  car  side,  was 


406  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

met  by  the  conductor  at  the  step,  who  called  out  to 
her  gaily,  "Company  to-day."  Miss  Lady  did  not 
fully  understand,  and  so  waited,  looking  excellently 
well  turned  out  in  the  bright  jacket  and  the  dainty 
gloves  which  lay  on  Cherry's  tugging  rein,  as  she  sat 
easily,  with  the  grace  of  a  born  horsewoman.  And 
so,  before  she  understood  this  speech,  the  train  passed 
on ;  and  as  it  passed  it  showed  to  these  newly  arrived 
passengers  upon  the  platform  this  picture  of  Miss 
Lady,  one  not  easily  to  be  surpassed  in  any  land, 
fit  long  to  linger  in  any  eye. 

It  was  John  Eddring  who  now  gazed  at  this  pic- 
ture, and  who  felt  rise  to  his  lips  the  swift  salutation 
of  his  soul,  tenderer  than  ever  now  in  its  instanta- 
neous homage.  He  had  not  dreamed  that  she  could 
grow  so  beautiful.  He  had  not  known  that  love  could 
mean  so  much — that  it  could  mean  more  than  every- 
thing—that it  could  outweigh  every  human  interest 
and  every  human  resolve !  His  heart,  long  suppressed 
by  an  iron  determination;  his  whole  nature,  gone 
a-hunger  in  the  long  fight  for  success,  now  at  once 
rebelled  and  broke  all  shackles  in  one  swift  instant 
of  its  mutiny.  He  knew  now  how  unjust  he  had  been 
to  himself,  for  that  he  had  worked  and  had  not  lived. 
The  years  broke  from  him,  and  he  was  young.  For 
with  him  youth  had  not  been  lost,  but  set  aside,  un- 


THE  RED  RIOT  OF  YOUTH  407 

spent.  Now  it  came  to  him  all  at  once — the  red  riot 
of  youth  and  love.  It  must  have  shone  in  his  eyes, 
must  have  trembled  in  his  touch,  as  he  hurried  over 
the  rails  at  which  Cherry's  dainty  forefeet  now  were 
pausing,  and  reached  up  his  arms  to  her,  murmuring 
he  knew  not  what. 

He  helped  her  dismount,  and  caught  then  her  gaze 
directed  behind  him.  John  Eddring  had  forgotten 
that  his  mother  was  with  him.  She  came  forward 
now,  reaching  out  her  hand,  then  reaching  out  her 
arms. 

"Child,"  said  the  white-haired  old  lady,  "I've 
heard  it  all,  all  your  strange  story.  My  son  has  come 
to  tell  you  that  you  have  succeeded  at  last.  Your  case 
is  won ! ' ' 

She  touched  Miss  Lady's  tumbled  tawny  hair  with 
her  own  gentle  hand.  "My  girl,"  said  she,  "my  dear 
girl;  and  you  never  knew  your  own  mother?  You 
never  knew  what  that  was?  My  dear,  it  is  very 
sweet  to  have  a  mother." 

Miss  Lady,  knowing  no  better  thing,  kissed  her 
impulsively,  and  the  older  lady  drew  her  close,  in 
such  communion  as  only  women  may  understand. 
Mrs.  Eddring  again  touched  lightly  the  red-brown 
hair.  "I  never  had  a  daughter,"  said  she.  "I've 
only  a  boy.  That's  my  boy  there." 


408 

Eddring,  who  had  meantime  taken  Cherry's  bridle 
rein,  was  now  walking  on  in  advance  toward  the  lane 
that  led  to  the  house.  The  girl  caught  the  old  lady's 
hands  in  her  own,  and  then  threw  her  arms  about  the 
thin  figure  in  a  swift  embrace.  So,  arm  in  arm,  they 
also  turned  toward  the  lane ;  and  which  was  then  wel- 
coming the  other  home  neither  could  have  said. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AMENDE  HONORABLE 

"Well,  what  do  you  want,  boy?"  Blount  gruffly 
asked  of  Eddring  on  the  morning  after  his  arrival. 
"Are  you  on  a  still  hunt  for  that  Congressional  nomi- 
nation?" 

"No,  it's  of  a  heap  more  importance  than  that," 
said  Eddring. 

"Humph!  Maybe.  Bill,  oh,  Bill!  Here,  you  go 
and  get  the  big  glass  mug,  and  a  bunch  of  mint.  Come 
out  here,  Eddring.  Sit  down  on  the  board-pile  in  the 
shade — I've  been  going  to  build  a  roof  on  my  dog- 
house with  these  boards  as  long  as  I  can  remember." 

They  had  just  seated  themselves  upon  the  board- 
pile,  and  were  waiting  for  Bill  with  the  mint  when 
Eddring  looked  up  and  smiled.  "Who's  that  com- 
ing?" he  asked,  pointing  down  the  lane. 

"That?  Why,  I  reckon  that's  Jim  Bowles  and  his 
wife,  Sar'  Ann.  They  come  up  once  in  a  while  to  get 
a  little  milk,  when  they  ain't  too  durn  tired.  Their 
cow — why,  say,  it  was  a  good  many  years  ago  your 
blamed  railroad  killed  that  cow.  They  never  did  get 

409 


410  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

another  one  since.  And  that  reminds  me,  Mr.  John 
Eddring — that  reminds  me — " 

He  fumbled  in  the  wallet  which  he  drew  from  his 
pocket,  and  produced  an  old  and  well-creased  bit  of 
paper.  "Look  here,"  said  he,  "you  owe  me  for  that 
filly  of  mine  yet.  That  old  railroad  never  did  settle 
at  all.  Here  it  is.  Fifty  dollars." 

"I  thought  it  was  fifteen,"  said  Eddring,  with 
twinkling  eyes. 

"That's  what  I  said,"  replied  Blount,  solemnly,  as 
he  tore  the  paper  in  bits  and  dropped  them  at  his 
feet.  ' '  I  said  fifteen !  Anyway  I  'm  in  no  humor  to  be 
a-quarreling  about  a  little  thing  like  that.  Why,  man, 
I  'm  just  beginning  to  enjoy  life.  We're  going  to  make 
a  big  crop  of  cotton  this  year,  I  Ve  got  the  best  pack  of 
b'ah-dogs  I  ever  did  have  yet,  and  there's  more  b'ah 
out  in  the  woods  than  you  ever  did  see." 

"I  suppose  your  ladies  leave  you  once  in  a  while, 
to  go  down  to  New  Orleans?"  inquired  Eddring. 

"No,  sir  I  New  Orleans  no  more,"  said  Blount. 
"Why,  you  know,  just  as  a  business  precaution,  I 
bought  that  house  down  there  that  Madame  Delchasse 
used  to  own.  It's  sort  of  in  the  family  now.  Shut 
off  that  running  down  to  New  Orleans." 

"Well,  how  does  Madame  Delchasse  like  that?" 
asked  Eddring. 


"MAY    I   DEPEND?     TELL  ME,   GIRL.      I   CANNOT  WAIT."/.  416 


AMENDE  HONORABLE  411 

"Man,"  said  Blount,  earnestly,  "there's  some 
things  that  seem  to  be  sort  of  settled  by  fate— couldn't 
come  out  no  other  way.  Do  you  suppose  for  one 
minute  that  I  'm  going"  to  allow  to  get  away  from  me 
the  only  woman  I  ever  did  see  that  could  cook  b'ah 
meat  fit  to  eat?  "Well,  I  reckon  not!  Besides,  what 
she  can  do  to  most  anything  is  simply  enough  to  scare 
you.  She  can  take  common  crawfish,  like  the  niggers 
catch  all  around  here — and  a  shell  off  of  a  mussel, 
and  out  of  them  two  things  she  makes  what  she  calls 
a  'kokeeyon  of  eckriveese,'  and — say,  man!  You  bet 
your  bottom  dollar  Madame  Delchasse  ain't  going  to 
get  away  from  here.  Don't  matter  a  damn  if  she 
ain't  got  over  putting  hair-oil  in  her  cocktails,  like 
they  do  at  New  Orleans — we  won't  fall  out  about  that, 
either.  I  don't  have  to  drink  'em.  Only  thing,  she 
calls  a  cussed  old  catfish  a  'poisson.'  That's  when  we 
begin  to  tangle  some.  But  taking  it  all  in  all — up 
one  side  and  down  the  other — I  never  did  know  before 
what  good  cooking  meant.  Why  she's  got  to  cook — 
she'd  die  if  she  didn't  cook.  Her  go  back  to  New 
Orleans  ? — well,  I  reckon  not ! 

""Why,  say,"  continued  Blount,  "don't  it  some- 
times seem  that  luck  sort  of  runs  in  streaks  in  this 
world?  All  cloudy,  then  out  comes  the  sun — lovely 
world !  Now,  for  one  while  it  looked  like  things  were 


412  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

prelty  cloudy  down  here.  But  the  sun's  done  come 
out  again.  Everything's  all  right,  here  at  the  Big 
House,  now,  sure's  you're  born.  We'll  go  out  and 
get  a  b'ah  to-morrow.  Come  on,  let's  go  see  the  dogs." 

"Well,  you  know,  I  must  be  getting  back  to  busi- 
ness before  long,"  began  Eddring. 

"Business,  what  business?"  protested  Colonel 
Blount.  "Say,  have  you  asked  that  girl  yet?"  He 
was  fumbling  at  the  gate  latch  as  he  spoke,  or  he 
might  have  seen  Eddring 's  face  suddenly  flush  red. 

"Whom  do  you  mean?"  he  managed  to  stammer. 

Blount  whirled  and  looked  him  full  in  the  eye. 
"You  know  mighty  well  who  I  mean." 

Eddring  turned  away.  "I  told  you,  Cal," — he  be- 
gan. 

"Oh,  you  told  me!  Well  I  could  have  told  you 
a  long  time  ago  that  Miss  Lady  had  this  whole  thing 
straightened  out  in  her  head.  Do  you  reckon  she's 
a  fool  ?  I  don't  reckon  she  thinks  you're  a  thief  any 
more.  I  reckon  like  enough  she  thinks  you're  just 
a  supreme  damned  fool.  I  know  7  do." 

"Turn  'em  loose,  Cal!"  cried  Eddring,  suddenly. 
"Open  the  gates!  Let  'em  out!  I  want  to  hear  'em 
holler!"  The  pack  poured  out,  motley,  vociferous, 
eager  for  the  chase,  filling  the  air  with  their  wild 
music,  with  a  riot  of  primeval,  savage  life.  "Get  me 


AMENDE  HONORABLE  413 

a  horse  saddled,  Cal,  quick,"  cried  Eddring.  "I 
want  to  feel  leather  under  me  again.  I  want  to  feel 
the  air  in  my  ears.  I've  got  to  ride,  to  move!  Man, 
I'm  going  to  live!" 

"Now,"  said  Blount,  rubbing  his  chin,  "you're 
beginning  to  talk.  The  man  that  don't  like  a  good 
b  'ah  chase  once  in  a  while  is  no  earthly  use  to  me. ' ' 

But  Eddring  did  not  ride  to  the  far  forest  that 
day.  A  good  horseman,  and  now  well  mounted,  he 
made  a  handsome  figure  as  he  galloped  off  across  the 
field.  As  he  rode,  his  eye  searched  here  and  there,  till 
it  caught  sight  of  the  flash  of  a  scarlet  jacket  beyond 
a  distant  screen  of  high  green  brier.  He  put  his 
horse  over  the  rail  fence  and  pulled  up  at  her  side. 

"You  ride  well,"  said  Miss  Lady,  critically.  "I 
didn't  know  that.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 

"There  have  been  a  good  many  things  about  me 
that  you  didn't  know,"  said  Eddring,  "and  there's 
a  heap  of  things  I  haven't  told  you." 

Knowing  in  the  instant  now  that  a  time  of  account- 
ing had  come,  she  looked  at  him  miserably,  her  eyes 
downcast,  her  hands  fiddling  with  the  reins. 

"But  then,  Miss  Lady,  you  didn't  know;  it  wasn't 
your  fault,"  he  added  quickly. 

"Oh,"  said  the  girl,  impulsively  turning  toward 
him,  her  face  very  red,  "I  am  so  sorry,  I  am  so 


414  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

sorry!  To  think  of  all  you  have  done  for  us,  for 
me.  Why,  every  bit  of  safety  and  happiness  in  my 
life  has  come  through  you.  I  have  felt  that,  and 
wanted  so  long  to  tell  you  and  to  thank  you.  You — 
you  didn't  come!" 

"Never  mind,  never  mind,"  said  Eddring,  wishing 
now  nothing  in  the  world  so  much  as  that  he  might 
have  spared  her  this  confession.  "I've  come  now — 
oh,  my  girl,  I've  come  now." 

"All  this  time,"  said  she,  evading  as  long  as  she 
might,  "you  were  trying,  you  were  working,  all  alone. 
Mr.  Eddring,  it  was  not  merely  kind  of  you,  it  was 
noble ! ' '  And  now  poor  Miss  Lady  flushed  even  more 
hotly  than  ever,  though  her  heart  was  lighter  for  the 
truth  thus  told. 

Eddring  looked  straight  on  down  the  road  ahead 
of  them,  the  road  which  broke  the  rim  of  the  forest 
toward  which  they  had  now  unconsciously  faced.  At 
length  he  turned  toward  her. 

"Miss  Lady,"  said  he,  simply,  "I  have  loved  you 
so  much,  so  very  much.  I've  always  loved  you.  I 
didn't  dare  admit  it  to  myself  for  a  long  time;  but 
it's  run  away  with  me  now,  absolutely  and  for  ever. 
I  can't  look  at  life— I  can't  turn  any  way— I  can't 
think  of  anything  in  which  I  don't  see  you.  It's 
been  this  way  a  long  time,  but  now  I'm  gone.  I 


AMENDE  HONORABLE  415 

can't  pull  up.  Miss  Lady,  I  couldn't  go  back  now 
and  begin  life  over  again  alone.  I  couldn't  do  that 
now.  I  wouldn't  want  to  make  you  unhappy,  ever. 
Do  you  think,  oh,  don't  you  think  that  you  could  de- 
pend on  me?  Don't  you  think  you  could  love  me?" 

Miss  Lady's  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  her  hands 
were  busy  at  the  reins  which  she  shifted  between  her 
fingers.  Cherry  walked  slowly  and  still  more  slowly, 
until  at  length  Eddring  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
bridle,  and  Cherry  turned  about  an  inquiring  eye. 
He  reached  out  his  hand  and  took  in  it  the  small, 
gray-gloved  one  which  had  half-loosed  its  grasp  upon 
the  rein. 

"Miss  Lady,"  he  whispered.  And  then  slowly  the 
girl  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked  full  at  him — her  eyes 
now  grown  soft  and  gentle. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "I  can  depend."  Her  voice  was 
very  low.  Yet  the  woman- whisper  reached  to  the  edge 
of  all  the  universe — a  universe  robbed  of  its  last  se- 
cret by  the  woman-soul.  ' '  I  can  see  you  clearly, ' '  said 
Miss  Lady,  softly.  "I  see  your  heart.  Yes.  I  am 
sure.  I  understand — I  know  now  who  I  am.  And 
I  know— I  know  it  all.  All!" 

"But  do  you  love  me?"  he  demanded;  and  now 
Cherry's  nose  was  drawn  quite  over  the  neck  of 
Jerry.  Miss  Lady  would  not  answer  that,  but  turned 


416  THE  LAW  OF  THE  LAND 

away  her  face,  which  was  now  very  pink.  "Tell  me," 
he  demanded,  frowning  in  his  own  earnestness,  and 
catching  the  bridle  hand  in  a  stern  clasp,  "may  / 
depend?  Tell  me,  girl.  I  can  not  wait." 

There  was  a  gentle  breeze  among  the  tree-tops.  A 
mocker  near  by  trilled  and  gurgled.  Eddring  leaned 
forward.  It  seemed  to  him  he  heard  a  whisper  which 
told  him  that  he  might  be  sure. 

THE  END 


A  LIST  of  IMPORTANT  FICTION 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


THE  LIFE  AND  LOVES  OF  LORD  BYRON 

THE 
CASTAWAY 


"  Three  great  men  ruined  in  one  year — a  king,  a  cad  and  a 
castaway.  *  * — Byron, 

BY  HALLIE  ERMINIE  RIVES 
Author  of  Hearts  Courageous 


Lord  Byron's  personal  beauty,  his  brilliancy,  his 
genius,  his  possession  of  a  tide,  his  love  affairs,  his 
death  in  a  noble  cause,  all  make  him  the  most  mag- 
netic figure  in  English  literature.  In  Miss  Rives' s 
novel  the  incidents  of  his  career  stand  out  in  ab- 
sorbing power  and  enthralling  force. 

The  most  profoundly  sympathetic,  vivid  and  true 
portrait  of  Byron  ever  drawn. 
Calvin  Dill  Wilson,  author  of  Syr  on — Man  and  Poet 

Dramatic  scenes,  thrilling  incidents,  strenuous 
events  follow  one  another;  pathos,  revenge  and 
passion;  a  strong  love;  and  through  all  these,  under 
all  these,  is  the  poet,  the  man,  George  Gordon. 

Grand  Rapids  Herald 

With  eight  illustrations  in  color  by 

Howard  Chandler  Christy 
I  zmo,  cloth,  price,  $  i .  oo  everywhere 

The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  BOOK  TO  MAKE  THE  SPHINX  LAUGH 

IN  THE  BISHOP'S 
CARRIAGE 

BY  MIRIAM  MICHELSON 


From  the  moment  when,  in  another  girl's  chin- 
chilla coat,  Nance  Olden  jumps  into  the  unknown 
carriage,  and,  snuggling  up  to  the  solemn  owner, 
calls  him  "Daddy,"  till  she  makes  her  final  bow, 
a  happy  wife  and  a  triumphant  actress,  she  holds 
your  fancy  captive  and  your  heart  in  thrall. 

If  jaded  novel  readers  want  a  new  sensation,  they 
will  get  it  here.  Chicago  Tribune 

For  genuine,  unaffected  enjoyment,  read  the  ad- 
ventures of  this  dashing  desperado  in  petticoats. 

Philadelphia  Item 

It  is  beguiling,  bewitching,  bristling  with  origi- 
nality ;  light  enough  for  the  laziest  invalid  to  rest  his 
brain  over,  profound  enough  to  serve  as  a  sermon 
to  the  humanitarian.  San  Francisco  Bulletin 

Illustrated  by  Harrison  Fisher 
I  zmo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


For  the  man  who  can  rejoice  at  a  book  that  is  not  trivial. 
For  the  man  who  ieels  the  power  of  Egypt's  marvelous  past; 
For  the  man  who  is  stirred  at  heart  by  the  great  scenes  of 

the  Bible; 
For  the  man  who  likes  a  story  and  knows  when  it  is  good. 


THE  YOKE 

A  Romance  of  the  Days  when  the  Lord  Redeemed 

the  Children  of  Israel  from  the 

Bondage  of  Egypt 


A  theme  that  captures  the  imagination:  Israel's 
deliverance  from  Egypt. 

Characters  famous  for  all  time :  Moses,  the 
Pharaoh,  Prince  Rameses. 

Scenes  of  natural  and  supernatural  power;  the 
finding  ot  the  signet,  the  turning  of  the  Nile  into 
blood,  the  passage  of  the  Red  Sea. 

A  background  of  brilliant  color:  the  rich  and 
varied  life  of  Thebes  and  Memphis. 

A  plot  of  intricate  interest:  a  love  story  of 
enduring  beauty.  Such  is  "The  Yoke." 

Ornamental  cloth  binding.     626  pages 
Price  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


AN   ANGEL   OF   THE    TEXAS    PLAINS 


HULDAH 

Proprietor  of  the  Wagon-Tire  House  and  Genial 
Philosopher  of  the  Cattle  Country 

BT  ALICE  MAcGOWAN 

and 
GRACE  MAcGOWAN  COOKE 


A  book  that  will  brighten  your  hope,  broaden 
your  charity,  and  keep  you  mellow  with  its  humor. 

Minneapolis  Journal 

It  is  cram  full  of  human  nature.  There  is  nobody 
like  Aunt  Huldahin  any  other  book,  and  it  is  a  good 
thing  that  she  got  into  this  one.  Washington  Times 

The  book  with  its  western  breezes,  homely  phi- 
losophy, queer  characters  and  big  hearts,  is  almost 
as  exhilarating  as  the  heroine  must  have  been  herself. 

Baltimore  Herald 

Aunt  Huldah  is  the  kind  of  a  woman  loved  by 
the  whole  world,  and  the  novel  is  the  most  attractive 
since  the  days  of  David  Harum.  Indianapolis  Star 

izmo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


THE  MOST  INTERESTING  MAGAZINE 
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THE  READER 
MAGAZINE 


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ing, and  it  is  besides  a  guide  to  the  best  literature 
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An  illustrated  monthly  magazine 

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Price,  $3.00  per  year 


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DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


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